Monsters of a Different Mold
by LoyaltyFalters
Summary: "Monsters are everywhere; you don't need to look for them." Poseidon Olympia is shocked to find out his high school sweetheart, Sally Jackson, has been dead for years, and it's even harder to swallow the discovery of her monster-ridden son—who's just a little too familiar for comfort. WIP. AU.
1. Cyclops

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings:** _Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there.__

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter One: Cyclops

* * *

He'd found her at the bottom of the stairs, silent and sad. His wide eyes didn't recognize such stillness. The wooden steps weren't slippery, not at all wet from soaked boots or a dripping coat. In truth, it hadn't even rained. Her shoes were plain sneakers—comfortable and predictable. Like they'd mapped out the red oak wood a thousand times before. They could probably recognize every flaw, scratches and chips transforming into delicate patterns. The woman couldn't have tripped. It was unlikely, considering how careful she always was.

He did not understand.

The little boy just wanted his Mommy. Was that so bad? It must have been, because she wouldn't even speak to him. She just laid there, staring blankly at the cracks in the left wall with her sweet blue-grey eyes glazed over and pretty pink lips parted into a small, horrified "o". Her neck's at a weird angle, too, and he wasn't sure if that was natural or not. Percy cocked his head before kneeling down next to her with a soft, confused whine. He didn't dare go louder.

His mommy didn't like loud noises, they made her head hurt. When it got really bad, she'd grip at her hair and swallow some small red things that looked like tictacs. Though they didn't taste good like tictacs did, Percy knew. Mommy didn't like them at all; Percy could tell.

So Percy choose not to talk, as he often did. He just whined again, cuddling into her cold, unmoving chest and kicking his tiny legs in wounded frustration. Strangely, she didn't even flinch. Her strong, passionate heart did not beat. _Was it saving up on energy? Was it taking a break?_ Percy didn't think it was normal for a heart to take a break. Did hearts even need breaks? That sounded unhealthy.

The child frowned, the baby blue blanket around his fragile shoulders rustling with every concerned squirm his petite body made.

"Mommy?" he questioned, unable to stop himself. "Mommy, what's wrong?" He nuzzled her chin with his button nose. His mommy liked to bop it when he did something wrong. Percy always pretended it hurt, so he wouldn't hurt her feelings. "Mommy?"

Something was wrong. Something was very, _very_ wrong. Mommy never ignored Percy! Mommy loved Percy, just like Percy loved Mommy!

Little Percy Jackson buried his face into his mother's long brown hair, ignoring its sticky texture and metallic smell. Did she get juice in her hair? Percy wrinkled his nose when some of his Mommy's hair got in his mouth. It tasted icky! He made no attempt to lick the substance off his lips—it must be juice (possibly the icky Kool-Aid kind that wasn't actually Kool-Aid). He wiped it off with his sleeve. That's what it looked like, so it had to be that!

It must have gone bad or something. "Glkk!"

Part of the child wondered how his Mommy had got down here at the bottom of the rickety old staircase, crimson juice pooling under her head and soaking up into the edge of the ugly, pus-colored carpet a few inches away. She looked scared, he thought, cautiously dipping his fingers into the tacky liquid and sticking them into his mouth with a questioning (and disgusted) grunt.

He didn't taste it again—it made him feel sick. It was too salty, and his burning curiosity was finally sated.

His eyes never left her after that, as there was now nothing to grab his attention. Interestingly, a small part of her head looked a bit squashed, like slightly rotten fruit resting against concrete. Thank goodness it wasn't too bad. Though it _was_ scary.

Percy pondered why it was the way it was, but not nearly as much as he had with how long she had been down here. She must be cold! Whipping his precious blankie from off his shoulders, he laid it over top of her, tucking it in before patting her on the cheek affectionately. Much better, he wouldn't want her to freeze.

"Why you out here?" No answer. How strange. Mommy always answered.

Had the smelly man locked her out again? Sometimes he forgot to unlock the door or didn't leave the key under the mat. Percy's brow puckered, innocent green eyes narrowing in thought. No, that couldn't be right! Percy had crawled right through the doggy door, so Mommy obviously could have done the same! She was smart like that, and certainly wouldn't be stumped by such a silly bump in the road. His mommy was even smarter than his pre-K teacher! (And she was pretty smart.)

But Percy guessed it didn't matter; he was so glad she was home! He had missed her _real_ bad.

He laid with her 'til morning until finally a horrified neighbor called nine-one-one. What a silly lady!

Mommy was _fine_.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

_(Four years later.)_

Poseidon Olympia hated these kind of events. Really, there wasn't much of a point going to one, other than good press and overly sensitive women who had a thing for overly sensitive men. But being rich had its responsibilities, and putting on a sweet face and batting your eyelashes at ungrateful brats was one of them.

Glaring, his eyes swiped over the run-down building in front of him. It was small, almost smaller than the first floor of his home, with ratty puce curtains and what looked like a leaky roof. His eyes rolled skyward. Wonderful, truly wonderful. The canary yellow steps that led up to the puke green door_ totally_ made the place _pop_. His breath curled and dissipated in the freezing December air.

He couldn't complain, it's not like the newly turned twenty-four year-old had much say in the matter. Surely his father would take away his credit card if he didn't behave. Running his hand through his wild black hair, Poseidon forced himself to square his shoulders. _Be good, get more money. More money means more expensive hotel rooms, more food, more gifts that would result in more women..._

More women.

He breathed in, then out. This was just a visit to a children's care home. His father had told him there was nothing to worry about. Everything would be fine; there wouldn't be any trouble. Just whiny kids and maybe the monstrosity of stepping on a stray lego block.

His hand closed around the knob, and with a great sigh, he opened the door...

And was instantly greeted with a boy ramming straight into him. Everything went quiet, but there hadn't been much noise in the first place. Poseidon wondered if his eyes were glowing red, or if the burning sensation he was feeling was just the angry flush that had taken over his cheeks. He glanced down at the boy's terrified face.

He was nondescript and healthily chubby, with floppy brown hair covering one of his equally brown eyes. Thing couldn't be older than sixteen, despite what his large stature implied. His lips were quivering beneath a slightly crooked nose, and he appeared nervous and even a tad shy. Poseidon bit back a snarl and forced his face instead into a pleasant smile. Hopefully no one would notice the rapid twitching of his eye. "Off in a hurry?" A chuckle - - or what was supposed to correctly resemble a chuckle - - passed his lips. The kid turned red in the face, spluttering out an apology. A young caretaker followed in close behind.

She was quite lovely, he couldn't help but notice. Very pretty—delicate features and graceful fingers. Her hair was a very healthy mocha, and so curly that the individual locks reminded him of coiled up snakes waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Added with a teasing simper and dancing cat eyes, Poseidon thought that today might not be so bad with her around to keep him company. "I apologize," she said. "Tyson can be absentminded at times." Her inviting lips curved down into a lopsided scowl _(she was still attractive, even when frowning)_ as she looked at the teenager. Tyson scampered away like a frightened toddler.

"It's fine." He smiled, "No harm done." Poseidon didn't bother to introduce himself. She already knew his name, he was very aware, possibly by heart. One good thing about any type of event involving a care-home was that you were always treated like royalty.

And wasn't he, of a sort?

"Still, what an awful way to start the day, Mr. Olympia." She shook her head, seemingly disgusted, but he caught the grin curling at her _very red_ mouth. "I'm Medusa Adalin. I'm so happy you joined us today; I can't thank you enough."

"Just glad that you invited me, Ms. Medusa." Now he was, at least. Before? Not so much.

"Well, the pleasure is ours. Mr. D should be coming soon, I'm sure he'd love to talk to you." Poseidon knew who _that_ was. Dionysus was one of his older brother's "acquaintances", meaning Zeus paid the man to give him good publicity. Thousands of dollars for a few words on how he saved puppies and babies alike from burning buildings, of how he gave a percentage of his cash to the poor and the needy.

That's why Poseidon was here in the first place. For years, his father and his older brother had fought head-to-head against each other, Zeus winning by exactly one point for over a year now. This was Kronos' chance to get him back. **(1)**

Of course, Poseidon just had to get dragged into the middle of their little tiff. Not that he really minded.

More money and sex for him.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and he jumped, spinning around to face the voice with a no-doubt startled expression. A scrawny boy was attempting to give him the evil eye with his chin held a fraction higher than Poseidon expected from such a pathetic-looking kid. He looked like he was prepared to face down a dragon.

Poseidon wondered how long he had stood there, his dark bangs mostly covering the peeved look in his familiar green eyes.

He supposed it didn't matter, but the brat had to be pretty light on is feet to slip past his radar so easily. But then again, a gentle gust of air looked like it could knock the poor thing clean over. Or maybe he was losing his touch?

Poseidon hid a snort. _Of course not!_

The boy's lips twitched up into a forced smile. It looked more like a grimace. "You Mr. Olympia, sir?" He spoke very quietly, each letter sounding like it was about it wither away. His politeness was just as fake as the mockery of a smile that had been on his face earlier, Poseidon noted.

"Yeah, kid, that's me."

The young kid's lips trembled like they were trying to bite back something nasty—maybe even a few well-placed curse words. "Mr. D is just upstairs. I'll show you the way, mister." Amused, Poseidon arched an eyebrow at him. He decided to ignore the way those small fists clenched.

"Oh?" he hummed.

"Yep."

The boy from earlier, Tyson, padded up to the shorter child, shifting awkwardly next to him and hesitantly holding out his hand. Poseidon stared when the green-eyed kid took the offered, large hand in his, almost as if Tyson were a delicate flower instead of someone twice his size and around eight years his senior—or so he guessed. "Thank you," Tyson said, delighted and so damn earnest Poseidon had to look away. _Percy_ pursed his lips before flashing the other a brief—and in his important opinion, weak—smile.

"Come on, buddy," he spoke to the older boy softly, motioning Poseidon to follow them.

And blinking slightly at the obvious authority in the brat's green gaze, Poseidon _did_ follow.

**_-P-J-O-_**

Part of Percy wondered, forever off-task, if all of Poseidon Olympia's clothes were so expensive. His shirt seemed to cost a good fifty dollars, and that amount of dough could easily buy Percy a new pair of Nike's. And jeez, did he need some new shoes! Percy looked down at his red trainers, wiggling a single, blue-clad pinky toe that had managed to wear a hole through the (nearly) ancient fabric. They were so tight his heels felt like they had been stripped of a good four layers of skin. He wasn't sure there was any left!

His nose wrinkled. _This_ was the reason he hated rich people. Obviously they didn't know the greatest rule of all. _Sharing is caring!_ Well, _that_, and the five second rule.

The toxic fumes coming from their own stupidity had left them with some major memory loss, because he remembered learning both of those rules in second grade.

"So, what's this place like?" Percy stared at the older dude.

"There are a lot of kids," he began, "and not enough deodorant." Olympia snickered a little, the corners of his eyes crinkling up into a smile. Percy tried to smile back. It was hard though; he'd never been able to fake a sincere look. The old man _actually_ thought he was joking, but he hadn't smelled some of the other kids here yet. They were rank. Percy couldn't wait until Chiron picked him up. The sooner he escaped the stench the better off he was. His nose would be _screaming _if it could!

"What about that Medusa gal?" Olympia asked eagerly as they turned up the corner to the swirling staircase.

Oh, _heck_ no. This guy was crazy. "I wouldn't touch her with a thirty-nine and a half-foot pole."

The man grimaced. "That bad?"

"I'm pretty sure she eats children."

"And turns them into stone with a glance?" Olympia joked.

"That too." Olympia didn't think Percy was serious, but that woman could make a grown man cry for sure. Tyson nodded, his brown hair bouncing along with him.

"Very mean," the larger boy agreed. That actually made him giggle.

"The prettiest girl around here that's not majorly coo coo for cocoa-puffs is Melanie, and _she's_ fourteen with a G-string." Percy admitted with a small shrug, biting back a laugh at the look on the poor guy's face. Olympia didn't have a clue.

He knew the feeling.

"She's actually really nice, and if you ignore the cuss word after every other vowel, she has great opinions on civil rights." The sudden glare Olympia shot him was so cold that he felt like he was about to turn into a Percysicle. He wondered what had gotten him so mad.

"You're joking?" Percy blinked. The guy didn't sound angry like he had thought but instead grossed out. That was almost worst.

"No, you should hear her views on abortion." He looked away suddenly, biting his lip. If asked, he would deny it, but the man was freakin' scary.

"That's not what I meant!"

"Well, it's _none of your business._ Forget I said anything," he fumed under his breath, suddenly defensive. Melanie was a really nice gal, and he wasn't about to dis her any further than he already had. Really, he had to learn how to bite his tongue. His mom would kill him if he hurt anyone's feelings... **(2)**

Olympia gave him a sudden, strange look, seemingly nostalgic. Almost sad. But as soon as Percy saw it, it was gone, replaced with his (from what he'd seen so far) usual haughty expression.

"Doesn't make it any less sick."

"No one cares about your opinion." Percy noticed the way Olympia's eyes were darting about. The secure looking doors made of Plexiglas, a window insuring that there was no way for you to hide. He understood the skepticism, but the people here weren't anything but thorough.

This was a step up from the other option, but that didn't mean they didn't have precautions.

"Plenty of people care about my opinion, brat."

He froze up. He couldn't help it. Poseidon didn't look like _Poseidon_ anymore, and was quickly replaced with a very different person. _"Don't call me that!"_ Before Olympia could so much as open his mouth to speak, the door to Mr. D's office was abruptly thrown open, and Percy stomped inside like the child he was.

Dang, he had to keep his temper in check. Hopefully Olympia didn't notice the way his palms dripped with "the icky juice" he remembered from so long ago.

**_-P-J-O-_**

Poseidon gave this place an eleven on the 1 - 10 creep-factor. At first, it had been just slightly odd, seeing how everything was considered a dangerous weapon, a new way to get yourself killed. It had been only a small thought in the back of his head, of course, but he'd noticed the way there was no glass in the room. Or pointy furniture. Everything was plush. He had just figured that it was because of the smaller kids staying there.

But, as he began to walk up to the owner's office, he had realized that _there were no young children_. No crying, no giggling, no nothing. It was twelve o'clock in the afternoon, and there wasn't even a peep of noise other than hushed whispers and the soothing, muted hum of the cars whizzing along the streets outside. The youngest person he'd seen so far had been Percy, and he was in no way childlike, from his speech to his mannerisms.

The doors had been the next big clue. They obviously were specially made for the use of hospitals, not a care-home. This _was_ a care-home, right? Poseidon wasn't so sure anymore.

What was going on?

His eyes flitted towards Percy automatically. The way he walked was hostile, the way he talked was stiff. Tyson was gripping his hand like a drowning man would a life-preserver. It wasn't right. No, not at all. Tyson was at least _sixteen_. He shouldn't need a boy three times smaller than him being his big bro and holding his hand just as tightly, if only a little more protectively. Percy wasn't a grown man. The brat looked six, maybe seven at best!

So what was it that made him look so _old_?

Poseidon didn't have a minute to spare for story time, but _damn_, the curiosity was killing him! He had to know.

So he followed after the two boys with a grin on his face, and his chin held just as highly as the brat's had been before! After a while, the hall led to an office door at the far end. The paint was a chipped, hideous, carroty orange. The window was ever-so-slightly tinted yellow, like it was years old and needed a serious clean. Dust lined the creases. Percy opened the door for both him and Tyson–but mostly for Tyson. Poseidon stepped inside without a thought.

"Dionysus?" He tilted his head, flashing white teeth. "I hope I haven't kept you waiting, old friend." The older man, at least forty, shook his curl covered head, and Poseidon decided to ignore its purple color for later evaluation. The guy was a crazy drunk. Poseidon knew this from previous experience.

And if the tattoo he had been pressed to get removed proved anything…

"Poseidon." Taking a swig from his diet coke can, Dennis Welch–or as he liked to call him, Dionysus (the guy was a freakin' wino)–gestured for him to sit down. Percy stood silently by the man's desk, his hands fiddling with an empty, green prescription bottle and his expression perfectly poker-faced. His eyes were once again hidden by his mop of hair. Tyson let go of the Percy's hand, waving to Dionysus in a silent goodbye. He left to go do only God knows what; Poseidon honestly didn't care, but noticed him running his fingers along the walls carefully. He had more important things to wonder about, though, and didn't question it. He had come here on purely business, and he had to remember that as he declined the glass of wine the man offered him.

Though, really, he thought longingly, one glass wouldn't hurt.

* * *

**(1) **_Also, I do realize that Zeus is not older than Poseidon, but for the sake of this story, he is. So please, don't complain._

**(2) **_But, Loyalty, Sally is dead! Yeah. She is. Chill._


	2. Demigod

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings: **Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Two: Demigod

* * *

"Drop the bottle, Johnson." Poseidon watched in bemusement as Percy dropped the empty bottle on the desk with a loud rattle, his face still holding its uninterested, void expression. On the bottle, the prescription read **_Ritalin_** in bold black lettering, followed by fancy words that meant nothing to him.** (1)** A piece of tape on the lid had the boy's name wrote in the clumsy cursive lettering of Welch himself. _Perseus Jackson_. Dionysus must have "forgotten" his last name. Figures.

It had taken him months to remember how to properly pronounce Poseidon's name and even longer for him to learn his own nickname.

_But Perseus? Really? Son of Zeus?_

Dionysus leaned up from his worn leather chair; his nose crinkled in distaste. "Kronos wanted you to come here." It wasn't a question. Didn't have to be one, really. The middle-aged man knew better than to assume anything less of his _boss_. He didn't go to places like these without a reason. Poseidon nodded absentmindedly, looking around for something worth remembering—anything that would show how the conversation might end. There wasn't. "I could call Zeus up at any minute, you know." He could.

"You won't," Poseidon said, sitting down in the plastic chair _(one obviously made for a child, he noted)_ across from Dionysus's desk with all the gracefulness of a ballerina with one leg. "You hate his guts." Who doesn't? The guy was an asshole. An asshole with a god-complex, to boot.

"He doesn't seem to think so." Dionysus heaved a sigh, yanking at one of his purplish curls in frustration. "I've been on probation ever since the Hades Incident," he grumbled. "Something about him getting a new head caretaker to replace me." **(2)**

Poseidon grimaced in sympathy. Yeah, Zeus was everything _but_ merciful when it came to "his people" socializing with the family. Actually, he was down-right cruel. He only wanted the good publicity for himself, and he was willing to fight for it. Even if it meant not even he got any in the end. Hades, their eldest brother, knew that just as well as Poseidon did. Neither of them cared.

Unfortunately, that usually meant that the people they hung out with got the whole blame resting on their sad-sap shoulders. What a shame.

"Zeus has a big head; he thinks everyone kisses the ground he walks on." He shrugged. Blame darling Mother Rhea on that mistake.

Dionysus rolled his watery blue eyes, all the while grabbing Percy's wrist that had reached out to grab some of the candy from the intricately created bowl sitting in between the both of them. The boy recoiled, eyes flashing in a sort of wild urgency that he had only ever seen on a rapid dog begging for scraps. Percy began to tug away. Poseidon tried not to stare, though it was hard not to. Dionysus let Percy go, handing him a single piece of peppermint with a gruff pat on the shoulder following close behind. The older man turned against to Poseidon.

He gawked back at his calm visage, bewildered.

"Let's just get this over with. What does Kronos want?" _What doesn't he want?_

But instead, Poseidon said a blank "Just publicity", attempting to straighten the emotionless mask he had continuously been taught to don since early childhood. "You're having some huge charity bullshit soon. We'll give you all the money you need for funding, just tell the press about how saintly we are." Percy looked disgusted by the idea, but Dionysus remained unperturbed.

"Fine with me. But if my ass gets put on the fire because of you, the publicity won't be nice." Dionysus emptied his soda can with one last tip. Poseidon just nodded.

"Fair enough." For a second, he thought about what to do. "Brief me on what we're giving up our money on. Dad didn't tell me jack." He never does. Not on anything important, anyway.

Shooing Percy off with a hand, the elder nodded. The green-eyed man-child was out the door before he could blink.

"This is a halfway house, for lack of better term." Dionysus paused, thoughtful. "Well, it's made to be like one. Similar, close to, staged to mimic, whatever."

"Halfway house? Should I know what that is?"

"I doubt you even know what a 711 is; I'm not surprised."

"It's a gas station," Poseidon defended. "One goes there to get gas."

"Whatever. Just know we help kids...ease back into society." _Oh-kay_, that didn't sound weird at all, Poseidon grumbled to himself scathingly. _Thanks, that explains everything._

"They're good kids," Dionysus said suddenly. "Don't let the brats hear me say that, but they are. Messed up in the head, but good."

Poseidon's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Messed up in the head?"

Dionysus gave him a long look, one that left Poseidon fidgeting. "You were right. Your father told you zilch." The older man sighed, propped up his head on his arms, and squared his shoulders to speak. He had this dry look of _This-Is-Fantastic_. Poseidon tried not to have any sort of look at all. "This is a place for brats with mental disorders and substance abuse issues. Mostly the former. It's a way for Zeus to get a good buck–a nicer way to get little shits with way too much baggage out of the adoption process." At Poseidon's widening eyes, Dionysus carried on. "You've been to plenty of charities and care-homes. It's no big deal." He didn't really care what the younger believed, that much was obvious, but by his rapidly paling complexion it probably looked like the young adult was about to faint.

He sputtered, completely thrown. What the hell was his dad thinking? No, he knew the answer to that. Kronos wanted to make an image. An image that portrayed them as saints.

But they weren't. "So, that Tyson kid...?"

"Recently blinded in a car accident: completely blind in one eye, almost lost all vision in the other. Lost one of his mothers. He doesn't live here; his remaining mom just wanted him to get to know some of the kids. Keep them company, help cheer them up. Hopefully get him to be a bit more social. The works. He's a very special case, not like a lot of the others."

"Meaning?"

"He's coming here because he _wants_ to. A lot of the kids stay here because someone _ordered them to_." Poseidon mused about that for a minute, his fingers drumming nervously against the desk.

That explained a lot. Explained the while-not-suffocating but _careful_ precautions and the worried looks and the moody, red-eyed kids at every corner. "And, uh, Jackson?" Despite everything, the kid didn't seem half bad. A little too mature for his age, but that wasn't necessarily a con. Kinda mouthy too, but he didn't have any room to complain.

Dionysus' eyes darkened. "It's not my place to _gossip_ about the people here. This isn't the girls' bathroom."

"Dionysus," Poseidon would deny it if asked, but he let himself grovel, just a bit.

_"Mr. Olympia."_

_"Dionysus."_

Annoyed with the whole thing, Dionysus began to grumble under his breath. Poseidon grinned. "Found his mother's dead body when he was small. Four, I think he was. Screwed him over, obviously. He'd been travelling foster home to foster home for some time, but they never kept him long. Minus the one he's been staying at, anyway. Foster father's pretty insistent on him going_ home_ every night." His grin slid off his face, fell to the floor, and did not attempt to crawl back up to its original place. Dionysus didn't notice. "Now that I think about it, he's only spending the night tonight because Tyson wanted to as well. They're good friends; Tyson's very attached to him."

Poseidon's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Damned if I know. He's got an attitude."

"No, I meant why didn't they want to keep him before?" Poseidon couldn't get over that. Even _Kronos_ wasn't _that_ cruel. At least he had found uses for his children.

The purple-haired cherub shrugged a though it wasn't anything to be concerned about. "Panic attacks—and pretty nasty ones at that. Most people don't like sniveling stage brats." Dionysus shot him a pointed look at that.

He ignored him. "Who's the mother? Anyone you knew?" The kid was familiar. _Too_ familiar, actually. Maybe he had met his mother? Or even father, who knew? Kronos had caused him to meet a lot of people, and even without that, Poseidon had went through a partying phase. A partying phase that had caused him to _meet_ a lot of people, men and women alike.

Besides, he sort of looked like _her_.

"Tch, no. Name was something with an S..." He shrugged. "Selena, maybe."

Oh, no way. "Sally?" Dionysus arched a black brow at him.

"Yeah, I think that's it. You know her?" Poseidon smiled, feeling sick. He remembered Sally, remembered her cheery smile and the way she'd tuck back that one piece of hair that was never out-of-place.

"_Knew_ her."

Dionysus grimaced a little, but didn't look sympathetic. He would not pretend to like Poseidon. "Boring topics aside, Mr. Johnson arrived here a couple of months ago, a troubling amount of schoolwork and court order in hand." The man shrugged. "He's all right. More of a observational case than some of the more concerning patients. Can be a bit of a brat, but who isn't around here?"

Poseidon's lips pursed. "You say the word brat too much," he said, but didn't really care.

"So does your father."

"Fair enough." He paused. "How old is Percy?"

Dionysus tapped a finger against his temple in contemplation. "Turning eight in August, I believe." The twenty-four year-old ogled him. Oh, no way. Sally was his age; she would have only been sixteen when Percy was born. Poseidon had spent a huge slice of his Sophmore year with her. They had dated for quite a while. (She had been his longest relationship, funnily enough.) He didn't remember her dating anyone after they broke up, but he had left soon after. Maybe...

_Oh, don't be stupid. He looks just like you._ Poseidon paid his thoughts no mind. But...

_Look at the kid's fucking eyes, Poseidon. You're not blind!_

He knew those eyes, saw them in the mirror every day—he and the mirror were best friends; they were very well acquainted. The same eerie green tinged with the slightest hint of pale blue, "the color of the sea", as an old friend often joked. But it wasn't possible. There was no way, right? She would have told him, would have found a way to contact him, surely.

Poseidon's head jerked up to meet Dionysus's curious orbs with an audible snap. "I have an idea."

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

"This is a horrible idea," Percy said tersely, sitting uncomfortably in the backseat of Poseidon's fancy-shmancy car. Angrily, he picked at the thick seatbelt, feeling like he was suffocating. The belt squeezed unpleasantly at his ribs with every slight shift he made. This really _was_ a horrible idea.

He scowled at the man, making sure he could see from the mirror. He received a sneer in return.

"Deal with it," Poseidon snapped back. If it wasn't for the fact that he was driving the car, Percy would have hit him. He didn't want to "deal with it". He didn't want to be here at all. He shot a dirty look at the backpack lounging by his side. They weren't expecting him to spend the night with this guy, right? He would sooner leap out of a five-story window.

As he leaned back into the seat, he let his gaze—grumpy and a little more than cross—slide over to the window. His breath caught itself in his throat. Oh.

_Oh._

His eyes were dinner plates, he was sure. This was the _rich street _(he shouldn't be so surprised), with its new roads and cat fights every other week. The street with large, grand houses of columns and pretty designs and silk curtains that Percy wished he could use for his sheets. The yards varied, some full of gardens and apple trees, others with a tree house and a jungle gym. _Oh God, they can afford a jungle gym. These people are loaded!_

Only one house had a fountain in the yard, though. And that was the one they were pulling up to. The fountain was large, lying on immaculately cut grass, its pale shade of blue shining like the pearls from under the sea. It was made generously full of twirls and curls of marble, twining in and out of each other to make beautiful shapes that didn't have names but really should've. "Whoa," he said stupidly. Poseidon smirked.

Percy regretted opening his mouth. "I still don't know why you want me at your house." Poseidon rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're going to tell the nice reporter about how nice and kind I am."

He about face-faulted at that one. "You're one of _those_ guys," he accused. Just as he had guessed. A total _asshole_.

"Excuse me?"

"All you care about is money and face." One of the man's finely sculpted eyebrows ticked up in amusement. From what Percy could tell, he thought it was comical that a stupid seven year-old like him could say something like that to a guy like, well, Poseidon. He didn't think it was so funny.

"That's what being in business is about, kid." _Then business is stupid_, he wanted to say.

"Sounds fun," Percy deadpanned instead. Poseidon sighed, one hand reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He was trying not to look irritated, Percy noticed. Why did he bother? They both knew that Poseidon didn't like this any more than Percy. So why?

"Look," he began again, staring at the man in the front seat with no small amount of distaste. "I don't like you, you don't like me. Can't you just take me back and grab a better kid?" He pursed his lips, upset and wishing to go _home_. Home where the Stolls and Luke were and Chiron (the greatest foster father he had ever had) took him out shopping for groceries just so he could purchase blue food dye without the other kids noticing.

And if not there, back to the facility. At least the facility would eventually let him go home. If he stayed he would probably die here, and then he definitely would never get to go home. "Why not one of those poster kids with a big smile and photogenic face?" He wasn't ready to die yet.

"I didn't think you'd be able to use the word photogenic in a sentence." Percy shot him a dirty look for that. "And to answer your question, I can't."

"Can't?"_ Oh God, he was going to throw a temper tantrum... if only for the sheer reason of making Poseidon crash his car..._

It was a stupid car.

Poseidon rolled his eyes, glancing up at the mirror even as he parked. He did not notice Percy's livid expression—or if he did, he just didn't care enough to comment on it. "Yeah, _can't_. I have to find something out first." What is this, _Scooby-Doo_?!

"Anything specific?"

The elder just smirked at him with those too-white teeth _(Who was his dentist, anyway? Percy'd like to smack them firmly upside the head. Someone could go blind!) _before opening his door to get out. "Don't worry your pretty head about it."

"Don't call me pretty. It's weird." He shuddered in disgust, reaching to open his own car door, though Poseidon beat him to it. Percy's lips curled up into a defensive snarl, shoulders hunching up as he shuffled out of the vehicle. It _was_ a nice looking car. All sleek and shiny and indestructible.

Percy hated it. Really, he hated a lot of things. And people, he didn't like people either. People were _stupid_.

(_Now, now, Percy, dear_, a voice in his head reprimanded, sounding bizarrely like his pre-K teacher. It was freaky. _I know your mommy taught you not to use the word hate._)

Mommy wasn't here.

"—and make sure you don't," Poseidon paused, irritated. "You paying any attention?" He jumped, head snapping up to look at the man with staggering speed.

"Yes," Percy fibbed, far too quickly for his taste. The old guy clearly didn't believe him. The disarming smile shot his way didn't waver his resolve.

"Uh-huh, sure. Let's just get inside, it looks like it's about to rain." Blinking, Percy looked up at the sky. Huh, it really did. He hadn't noticed.

The sky was rapidly darkening from a silvery blue to a light grey, the clouds swirling angrily into one huge mass. It looked like it would swallow him whole. He could almost imagine the thunder they'd hear later tonight. Michael—one of his friends at the facility—had mentioned there being a chance of a storm two days before. Dang. He really hoped it wouldn't thunder.

_("It's okay, Percy, God's playing bowling with Satan! I bet he just made a strike!" And she'd smile real pretty down at her stupid, useless son, like he was the best thing in the world.)_

He'd never liked storms, he brooded, tugging his hoodie closer to his face to ward off the sudden chill. They were loud and had always hurt his fragile mother's ears. Things were fuzzy now when it came to her, but he remembered that. Sometimes she would curl up with him on his bed with his ocean comforter thrown over both their heads, and just bury her face into the pillows, holding him close while he whimpered and sobbed that "Mommy, I'm scared". He could see that in the back of his head, fluttering in and out of memory, but he never forgot.

He knew he had been loud and obnoxious, but she had never cared. She was just too kind, too perfect to ever raise her voice about anything to anyone, even when she probably should have. Definitely should have. He wished she would have.

By the time he started to resurface from memory lane, head spinning, they were inside.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

The first thing the kid noticed was the fish tank, and from the childish look of excitement on his face, Poseidon could tell he had found one of the few things that made the boy truly happy. At least that was something they shared; it would make things for manageable.

And even if he thought aquatic life was the dumbest thing since Snuggies for dogs, the tank was just _cool_. Never let it be said that Poseidon Olympia didn't cook in style.

It was in the kitchen, a good four feet tall and resting fully against the back wall. It then proceeded to turn into a countertop, ending just where the refrigerator sat. Colorful wildlife swam around, maneuvering through bright coral and eccentric decorations of all shapes and sizes. A half-full coffee mug sat on a napkin, but the kid didn't seem to notice or care.

Percy was in awe. He was babbling about all the kinds of fish under his breath, craning his head to catch a look at everything last detail. _Oohs_ and even an astounded (and maybe impressed) _no__ way_ filled his ears. He was literally bouncing up and down, his hair moving with him. There was a good chance he would push his nose up against the glass to get a better look. Mouth grinning and green eyes glittering, the boy turned to speak to him. Dimples flashed. Poseidon _almost_ smiled.

Then the boy's eager appearance dropped just as quickly as he came, becoming one of embarrassment. Pink stained his face before he was able to put on a more neutral face, creeping stealthily across his cheeks to the tips of his slightly too-large ears. The bouncing stopped as rapidly as it came; he was soon entirely out of his reverie. "Sorry," he mumbled. He glanced down at his tennis shoes, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Percy obviously didn't like the idea of Poseidon knowing _anything_ about him.

Poseidon laughed. "Don't be. It _is_ pretty great." The boy nodded begrudgingly.

"Yeah."

He rested a hand on Percy's shoulder. The child's whole body shrank back, and he let his hand drop uselessly back to his side.

Poseidon didn't try again. "Let's show you around."

"…Okay."

* * *

**(1) **_Ritalin, in case you don't know, is a medication used for ADHD. It's not going to be mentioned much, if it all. At the moment, Percy's ran out (if you couldn't tell)._

**(2)**_ This care-home is ran by a profit organization, Zeus', for the sole purpose of money. It's not to help the community. That's why Zeus can take Dionysus' job. Kronos is trying to use Zeus' "project" against him, by getting some publicity from them—donating money and getting great reviews in response. And it's not like Zeus can refuse. It's two organizations against one another at this point. All of this is probably horribly inaccurate but forget it. It's a mere plot device to get the ball rolling._

_Also, please remember that I don't have a beta. If there are any mistakes kindly tell me about them and I will do my best to fix them._


	3. Titan

_**Rated:**__ T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):**__ Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings:**__ Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:**__ None, as far as I know._

_**Disclaimer:**__ Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Three: Titan

* * *

The first thing he did later that night—when Percy was distracted in the living room, eyes glued to the TV like it was the Holy Grail—was call his father. "Why didn't you tell me I was going to an _insane asylum_?" He might have had to pass the _opportunity_ if he'd known.

The cold, dispassionate voice from the other line made him flinch—the very sound of it nails screeching on a chalkboard. "I wouldn't say it's an insane asylum, son." An emotionless chuckle, the crackling hit of whisky flowing over ice. Poseidon was positive it was whisky from the years of him filling his father's glass and making sure to never spill a drop. "I warned you that it was different."

"You did no such thing." Kronos hadn't; Poseidon would've remembered. Kronos Olympia had a way with words—every single one of them, from the seemingly unimportant word "of" to the phrase "get your shit together" or even the ever-famous "you're fired". The way his father spoke, the phrases he chose, the actions he expressed—they were all very memorable. Freakishly so. One well-placed glare and a few pointed mutters and he had you under the conference table, sobbing over the phone as you begged your mommy to come pick you up and take you home. Never mind that you hadn't lived with your mother for years and hated her more than you hated your ex-wife. It was even worse when it came to children instead of grown-ups with miserable lives.

That was a _nightmare_.

His father had never had the capacity to handle kids. Poseidon knew this from personal experience, because while the man had never been abusive, he had liked to use them as he pleased. Whether it was for publicity, fetching him his drink, or even entertaining his guests—Kronos had found many uses for his kids. All four of them. Hestia, the eldest. Hades, the oldest boy. Zeus, the precious _Mommy's boy _who'd left with her after the divorce. And then him, the youngest. The _Daddy's boy_, believe it or not. He had fetched him his drinks, tended to his annoying guests with his sister, took over Zeus' chores once he'd left, and "ooh"ed at all the right times when Kronos was explaining some big business idea Poseidon still to this day didn't understand. He might've attended college, but Kronos was on a completely different level.

Of course, he wasn't like that anymore, but having been Kronos's favorite, _still being his favorite_… Well, he had a large sum of money, more than Hades' and Hestia's combined. And that was all thanks to him doing odd jobs when his father needed them done. Odd jobs usually involving lots of hand shaking and false, pretty smiles.

In return for favors he got huge wads of cash, a nearly limitless debit card that drained not _his_ bank but his father's, and other perks. Like his own house. Two cars. Three televisions. A summer home down in Florida. He had enough money that he was even thinking about getting a pool put in.

And the things his father didn't let him buy (_useless, inappropriate things_, he called them) he bought with the money he made from the occasional surfing tournament or poker game.

"Look, Poseidon," the business man said sharply, "I understand that it wasn't what you anticipated. But believe me, you'll be handsomely rewarded for this." Damn right he was going to be.

"I'd hope so." Publicity may be Poseidon's specialty, but that didn't mean he was excited about the prospect of spending time at the halfway home. Especially with Zeus threatening to crush him if he made one wrong move too soon. A lot would be on his head if he screwed up. For this, he should at least be paid double his usual amount.

They chatted casually for a while, going over payment options, before his father asked him a question that put him on edge. That, if answered incorrectly, could endanger his pay.

"What's your angle?"

Of course Kronos, a man of paranoia, wanted to know what Poseidon had in mind for their publicity stunt. And what he had in mind… He wasn't sure his father would approve.

It was a risky deal, especially with a kid like Percy. Adults knew how to keep their mouths shut, and they knew how to fake their walk and talk and even their smiles. People over the age of twenty learned quickly that if you wanted to find your place in the world, you had to bat your eyelashes to get there.

Children didn't quite get that. And that caused them to talk. Often enough with no filter, and Percy obviously didn't have one of those.

So yeah, Poseidon could imagine how this was going to go. "I was…planning on, uh, inviting someone to stay at my house for a while. A night or two. Get to know them as well as I can in the limited amount of time. Try and 'understand' the life they live." They'd done stuff like this before. But not with mentally disturbed kids.

He hoped (though doubted) that his father wouldn't ask. Even though he always did—his lack of trust was wounding, but understandable enough. Kronos Olympia didn't trust anyone. Couldn't since Rhea had left _years_ ago.

Kronos let out a scoff, a hint of an annoyed growl trailing off towards the end. No such luck, then. "I hope you're not talking about a service woman." _No, not that. For once._

"A child, Father. Not a woman."

Silence.

For a moment, Poseidon thought the man had hung up—not even the sound of pen hitting paper or the slurp of whisky could be heard.

"I see." And that was that. No scolding. No warnings. Nothing. Clearly, Kronos could see the profit in this. The press would go wild if they found out _Poseidon Olympia_ had welcomed a child into his home. Despite what people might think, Poseidon didn't bring a lot of people into his home. If this worked and the public found out that he did it out of _the kindness of his heart _fromPercy himself... A lot more people would be warming up to all of Kronos' businesses. Even the not-so-clean and green ones.

But if Percy spoke bad of him...

The call ended with two mechanical goodbyes and the sudden rush of responsibility so strong Poseidon felt like he was choking on it.

**_-P-J-O-_**

He was a cute kid, Poseidon thought, despite the biting attitude. A quiet one, but cute nonetheless. His body sat ramrod straight, his back pressed firmly against the back couch cushion. Fingers still chubby with youth clutched at the pillow resting in his lap, knuckles turning whiter and whiter till Poseidon was sure the bones were going to split clean through his skin. His obedient, green gaze refused to leave the television screen—they'd been like this ever since he'd told him he was going to go make a phone call.

He had a feeling the youngster had overheard the whole conversation. Percy looked way too guilty. And a bit hurt, too.

Suddenly, with a bizarre sense of shame, he wondered if the insane asylum crack had offended him. "It's not polite to eavesdrop, you know." Percy looked up gradually, eyebrows raised in defiance.

"I wasn't eavesdropping; you're just loud," he defended in that unnaturally hushed, wispy voice of his. Poseidon easily caught the lie. Kid couldn't fib for shit.

"Nice try, kid, but those doors," he pointed to the double doors of the kitchen, "are thick. And that TV is on so loud I don't think you could've heard me even if I shouted. Were you listening at the door?" Percy simply shrugged, eyes trained on the spot above of his head instead of looking into his eyes. He exhaled noisily. "Right, okay." He didn't think it would do anything to yell at him.

"Just don't do it again." The child just gave a slight, unsatisfactory nod, his gaze already turned back to the television. Poseidon didn't know what to say, but figured it didn't matter. It wasn't like Percy was spending more than a night or two here. It wasn't as if this brat could be his _kid_ or anything. Definitely not. "Alright then." He plopped down onto the couch next to him, his own posture far more relaxed than the boy's. The kid flinched; he pretended not to notice.

They sat there for possibly five minutes. Percy never strayed from the TV, and he just stared up at the ceiling, tracing patterns.

Fuck, he didn't know what he was doing. That trip should have been so simple. It would've been, if it weren't for the green-eyed boy that looked a little too much like him. The green-eyed boy that just happened to be Sally Jackson's son. Sally Jackson, who was actually _dead_, by the way—who had been dead for_ years_. How, he wasn't sure. Honestly, he didn't want to know. He didn't even want to care. It wasn't his _job_ to care. He huffed a sigh, giving his head a slight shake. His eyes slid over to the child next to him. Percy wasn't looking at him. Purposely wasn't, he noted. The seven year-old was now holding the pillow against his chest, resting his chin on it and still focusing all of his attention towards the screen.

"What are you watching?" It was a cutesy cartoon, with what seemed like a huge mansion, with strange little creatures flitting around. Loud voices, made more blaring by the volume of the TV itself, made Poseidon cringe. Personally, he didn't see the appeal, but the kid seemed to like it. Percy turned his head towards him, brows furrowed and a puzzled green glancing up at him through fringe.

"_Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends_," Percy muttered. **(1)** Poseidon put on his best interested facial expression, a slight quirk to his lips. Okay, this could work. Light conversation that didn't lead to awkward silence or screaming or, even worse, crying. He didn't know how to deal with a bawling kid. Well, other than smothering them with a pillow, but that didn't seem very appropriate. He was supposed to bring back Percy breathing, and he doubted Sally would appreciate seeing her son again under such conditions. The thought made him cringe.

It was best not to think of that.

"What's your favorite character?" he asked. Percy gave him a look, as if it was obvious.

"Bloo." The boy pointed to blue, ghost-looking blob on the screen, a slight grin marring his features.

"Why Bloo?"

"He's _blue_," Percy answered simply, as if it explained everything. And for a kid, he guessed it did. He and Percy babbled about the silly little show until it was mutually decided that it was time for dinner.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

It smelled really good. That's all Percy cared about. Like, mouth-watering, tummy-rumbling, blue-cookie-worthy, lick-it-off-the-floor-if-it-falls, five-second-rule _smell good_. For all his faults, Poseidon could cook. Pots and pans were lying around, chicken and peppers and mushrooms and dried tomatoes _(Oh god.)_ simmering and pasta boiling. Some strange looking sauce was cooling, it's heavy scent of garlic making him nearly drool. It might have been a variation of Alfredo. Poseidon was mincing an onion down to nearly microscopic pieces.

All that managed to pass his lips was an overwhelmed, "We could have just ordered pizza." Poseidon shook his head. Percy thought he saw an eye-roll.

"No matter who you are, kid, you're_ my guest_. What kind of host would I be if I didn't cook you a homemade dinner?"

"I dunno, a normal one?" This had to be extremely expensive. All these ingredients looked top-of-the-line, and from going to the grocery store with Chiron—his caretaker, the one who drove him to the facility every day and had agreed to let him stay here—many times before Percy knew how much fresh products cost.

Too much, that's how much. Especially since Poseidon didn't look like much of a gardener—there was no way he had gotten most of the ingredients from his backyard. It was all clearly store bought. At least sixty dollars, considering it looked like he was cooking for six people instead of two. Now, Percy was a big eater, yeah, but he had learned the hard way that portions were important. It would save a lot of money and time if the food lasted for three days instead of only one. Poseidon didn't look like the saving kind of guy. He'd probably shovel it down his throat 'til he burst. Much like Luke, Travis, and Conner did when they came back from football practice. Chiron always got so mad at them...

Percy's stomach churned sickeningly.

"Hey," Poseidon's voice made him jump. "You okay there?" Percy peered up at, taking in the mildly concerned look on the older man's face.

"A pizza would've been cheaper. There's no way Mr. D will pay you back for something like my dinner." Poseidon stared.

"Is that what you're so panicked about?" He snorted, running a hand through his hair. "You had me worried, Jackson! Thanks a lot." After sliding the onions into the skillet from the plastic cutting board, the man moved to wipe off his hands.

"I don't want you wasting your food on me." Suddenly, Percy found himself being glared at. Poseidon turned off everything on the stove, an angry frown marring his features.

"I'm not wasting my food on anyone." Poseidon sighed, forehead wrinkled. His hands stilled from where he was draining the pasta. "Are you going to eat it?" Percy nodded quickly. Pasta was put back into the pot it was first boiled in.

"Well, yeah—"

"Then I don't see any problems with me fixing food for you. You're a child, and my guest, as previously mentioned. You don't have to worry about me spending money on you. Money isn't an issue." Poseidon put all of the ingredients into the still hot pasta sauce, then carefully poured it over the noodles. "Besides, it was my idea for you to come here. You're my responsibility; Dionysus would kill me if I didn't take care of you." The man stirred the concoction until it was all mixed in.

Percy gaped. "But..."

"The only butts we need are the ones we will use for sitting at the dinner table." He took out two plates, heaping huge amounts into the both of them. He handed one into the startled hands of Percy, letting him sit it down onto the table before grabbing forks from the drawer. He passed him one of those as well. "Now eat, _Percy_, and don't burn yourself."

That was the first time the man had ever called him by his first name, and it only made him _slightly_ uncomfortable. It was a start, he guessed.

Poseidon slid down into the chair across from him, eyeing him carefully. He blinked. "What?" Was there something on his face? He didn't think so. Medusa had scrubbed at him until he felt like his skin had been peeled off. She had insisted that a pretty face like his should look it's best when around someone of such high caliber—whatever that meant.

He was getting off-topic. Poseidon was smiling at him now, but it was a strange, nervous sort of twist of the lips instead of its usually cocky beam. "Something wrong with it?" A calloused hand gestured towards the table, and Percy's eyes followed its direction towards his untouched bowl. His eyes widened.

"Oh!" He shook his head. "No!" He twirled the pasta around his fork several times, before shoveling the huge glob full in his mouth. One of the noddles hung out the side of his mouth. Flavors danced—literally danced—on his tongue. Poseidon tried to hide to hide his laugh with a cough, watching the embarrassed expression that had taken over his face slide into one probably of pure bliss. Percy ignored him. "Are you a cooking_ god_?" The business man chuckled, taking a quick bite of his own food before answering.

"Last time I checked? No." Percy didn't respond after that, spooning huge amounts of food into his mouth. He was barely chewing. God, it was so good. Even Chiron, with all his healthy but delicious foods, couldn't compare. He was suddenly happy he'd come to the man's house. Shoving another mouthful passed his lips, he tried to eat more slowly. If only to savor the taste.

The shrill ring of a phone interrupted his happy chewing. Poseidon stood up, pushed back his chair with a foot, and walked towards the noisy communication device on the counter with furrowed brows.

"No one usually calls the house phone..." The young man picked up the device, clicking the green, lit-up 'talk' button with a single thumb. Poseidon held the phone to his ear and cautiously spoke into it. "Hello?" Percy didn't recognize the voice on the other end, but Poseidon's eyes turned darker than his mother's skin at Montauk.

"What do you want, Zeus?" Percy could've been a hundred feet away, and he still would've heard the furious voice from the other line. He couldn't make any words out, however, but from the sound of it, it was something nasty. It was biting and slathered with scorn so thick it made him cringe. Percy wouldn't wish it on anyone. But Poseidon didn't even seem to care. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've missed you too." He paused, pulling the phone away from his ear without batting an eyelash. The yelling had gotten louder.

"I don't remember you signing your name on his big forehead, brother mine." The man rolled his green eyes. It was the only thing that showed his brief irritation, but even that had now dissipated. Distractedly, he noticed his irises looked a lot like his own. Green and blue and grey and strangely swirly. Poseidon continued, "This isn't fifth grade. I didn't steal your desk to talk to the pretty girl across from it. This is business, and if you can't handle that then you've picked the wrong profession." The whole time, Poseidon's face remained stony, not a single expression flitting across his face.

"Call me when you're not so pissed. Or better yet, don't call me at all." He hung up. Percy found himself staring even more than he was before. When Poseidon turned around to fully face him, a calm smile was on his face. It was only slightly forced. "So, kid, how about some garlic bread?" A timer beeped loudly, just in time to hide the awkward silence. Poseidon never stopped smiling.

It was sort of scary.

* * *

_**(1)**__ If you know this show, feel free to leave a review with your favorite character. I'm curious!_

_I know you're probably wondering about Chiron, Luke, Travis and Conner. Let me assure you, it'll come up in one of Poseidon and Percy's conversation very soon. If not in next chapter, then certainly in the one of the two or three after. However, they are mentioned (usually Chiron) once or twice in the previous chapters, very briefly and for the majority of the time without names. Feel free to look back and check that out! ~Loyalty_


	4. Dryad

_**Rated:**__ T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):**__ Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings:**__ Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:**__ None, as far as I know._

_**Beta:** __Daughter of Apollo 14_

_**Disclaimer:**__ Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Four: Dryad

* * *

For the rest of dinner things were quiet besides the occasional squeak of feet scuffing against the floor. Their plates had already been put into the sink: a place they would rest until Poseidon decided he wasn't too _occupied_ to put them into the dishwasher. Which would be a long while away from now if he had any say on the matter.

But that meant that there was nothing to do.

Occasionally, Poseidon would strive to begin some sort of meaningless small talk with the child across from him, but it died off quick as a whip. They were left in an excruciating silence that was only interrupted by awkward, nearly noiseless shifts and sighs. Percy fidgeted in his seat; Poseidon's knuckles rapped against the table. Neither of them tried to meet the others' gaze. Poseidon looked at the tabletop, but Percy preferred to eye the kitchen utensils hanging above the stove. The whole thing was edgy and uncomfortable, and he could tell Percy hated it just as must as he did.

Because while it was true that he was a business man—and a good one when it came down to it—patience had never been his strong point, and he found himself wanting to open his mouth and _say something, anything at all_. Even if it was a pointless comment on Percy's revoltingly bright red shoes or, _God forbid_, the weather. Poseidon could feel himself reaching a new low. His eyes darted up.

Percy looked like he was heading somewhere even lower. _Desperate_ was a mild word when used to describe the expression on the child's face.

So he knew the kid couldn't help it when he blurted out, "That was your brother?" Sea green eyes then enlarged several sizes—if that was even possible. They looked like they were trying to swallow Percy's face. The child began to stumble over his own words, grasping for halfhearted apologies as embarrassment colored his cheeks. In any other situation, he would have laughed at the reaction.

This wasn't any other situation.

Poseidon prided himself in self-control: he had not even flinched at the question, even as his eyes dropped down from their spot. However, he had a feeling that not reacting only made it worse. He forced himself to look up from where he had been tracing invisible patterns in the wood, hopefully appearing as serene as he was going for. He forced his mouth into a patient line. Poseidon even held his tongue until he was positive he would not blow up at Percy—who he couldn't blame for being curious about the brother he had been wanting to punch in the schnoz for years.

"Yep," he began slowly. Confidently, he prayed, as well. "Zeus. Or Christopher." Percy cocked his head at him, but all Poseidon did was quirk his lips up into a grin. "You actually thought we were named after the Greek gods?"

"Well, obviously." The same scowl he had seen not long ago when they had first met was back full force.

He snorted. "No, they're just our nicknames. Started with our father's father's father. Sort of got passed down through the company, and my siblings took theirs with them when they branched off from the family buis." He ticked off three fingers as he counted them off aloud, wiggling them around, "Hestia, Hades, Zeus... Elizabeth, Benedict, Christopher. Our mother named us after saints." He rolled his eyes. "Look how that turned out." It was painfully ironic and downright distasteful.

"What's your real name, then?" Poseidon fake-hesitated before shooting Percy a look of carefully devised apprehension.

"I don't know, Percy... Can you keep it a secret? It's very hush-hush." Percy could only nod, obviously hating the suspense. He leaned closer to him, using his hand to hide his mouth from the sight of the door. Percy started to inch towards him, leaning out of his seat. Poseidon smirked. "It's Nicholas."

Percy blinked once, then twice.

"Oh, come _on_!" Percy exclaimed. The look of pure boredom on the child's face made him stifle a chuckle. "That's it?" Percy whined obnoxiously, bewilderment crawling up his features and taking them over like a disease. His eyebrows were raised nearly to his hairline.

The offended front Poseidon put up in response was rock solid, but all he really felt was a twinge of past fondness. Sally had asked him basically the same thing years ago. _Really, that's all? You're no fun, Nicholas. No tragic back-story forcing you to find your true name from prying eyes? The writer in me is crying! _Back before her uncle had been so severely sick, she had been a lot less withdrawn. Happy and light and naive. He forced those thoughts out of his head, though, along with the image of her teasing smile.

Everything felt sad without it. Especially with her own kid in the room, motherless and very much alone.

"Yeah, that's it, kiddo. Sorry to be a disappointment to you."

"Poseidon sounds cooler," the child blurted. Poseidon could tell he meant it, if only by the thoughtless way it was spoken—the kid was saying stuff before thinking. Again. "It makes you sound like you're gonna go 'round saving the world," Percy babbled on. "Or maybe destroying it. Earthshaker and all."

He felt a surge of surprise. It wasn't until he was twelve when he received his nickname, and the only reason he had ever even heard of the Greeks was because of his father. Kronos was strict when it came to the one good tradition they held.

He shook his head to clear away the thought. Better not think of Kronos at all. "You know a lot about the Greeks?"

"My mommy... My _mom_ used to tell me about the gods all the time." Percy looked bashful, as though his tough guy act was going to split straight down the middle if he wasn't more careful. It was hilarious and even_ cute_.

"She liked Poseidon the most. Said he was the coolest, and that he was kind and perfect and wonderful and strong." _Oh, dear Lord. _He thanked whoever made kids so goddamn clueless, because if Percy would've recognized the brief expression of longing that had no-doubt crossed his face... Poseidon would've been a goner.

"Oh," he coughed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. "That's...flattering." And nerve-wracking. Not to mention heartbreaking. Swallowing, he asked a simple question, "Which is your favorite?"

In the fashion of a true eight year-old, Percy looked up at him shyly. His cheeks were colored pink. For a moment, Poseidon simply just ogled the boy, befuddled by such a reaction towards something as trivial as that. But then it hit him like a Frisbee to the face: hard.

_You've got to be kidding me._ "Poseidon too, huh?"

The child nodded, but seemed extremely vexed at the idea of liking anything about him. "He was awesome... In the legends, I mean. Not you." Percy's nose scrunched up. "_Definitely_ not you." Poseidon couldn't find it in himself to be affronted in any way.

"I don't know, Percy. I'm pretty awesome too," he teased.

"The only thing awesome about you is your cooking!" His cheeks puffed out in annoyance, but all Poseidon could do was laugh.

"Well, it's a start." And it was, sort of.

**_-P-J-O-_**

It was around seven when Percy started to yawn. His eyelids drooped as if they were growing too heavy to completely keep open. Green glazed over. It wasn't hard to tell that the seven year-old was trying to stay up as late as possible, much like he had attempted all those years ago when he was Percy's age. Hell, even more recently in his senior year, when he had all but forced himself to pull all-nighters for the last minute studying he had been so well-known for. Unlike Poseidon, however, Percy only lasted until around eight thirty before collapsing on the couch in a mess of limbs and as limp as a rag doll. Still clad in jeans and a grey t-shirt, all Poseidon did was tug off the boy's worn shoes and spread out a blanket over his shifting form. If the child woke up he'd assure him that his backpack was safely upstairs in the guest room, right with his jacket. He didn't think he would.

And now as he sat in his favorite recliner with the television set on mute, he found himself noticing how much Percy truly resembled his mother. It hurt to look, really: it was that obvious.

Right now with his hair away from his eyes and their unsettling, familiar green shut away from the world, Poseidon could clearly see something purely _Sally_ in the boy. The furrow of his brow, the crazy thick eyelashes that were just plain _girly_, higher cheekbones, the splash of freckles, and hell, even the restless sleeping pattern pointed straight to _her_. The thoughtful frown on the boy's sleeping features was the same one Sally had always fallen asleep wearing. It was astounding, and it made his chest pang with a sort of longing ache.

Which was strange, because he had barely even thought of Sally until Percy was staring him straight in the face. She had been a distant, sweet memory—back when things had been simpler and he and Zeus had still been thick as thieves. Back when Hades was still joyful enough to wage wars with the both of them, even though he was two years Zeus's senior and nine years his. When they had been a team, even though none of them were in the same school, or even in school at all.

Now Zeus had a biological girl and a boy among a dozen adopted children, and hated him royally right along with his wife, Celine or _Hera_. Hades had a five year-old son; he was still dealing with the deaths of his daughter (a sweet, silent little girl who would never turn eight) and former wife. Not to mention his far more recent bride's mother and step-child. The days where they had _talked to him_ and he had actually wanted to _respond back _were left in the past with a box of dusty old photos. And Hestia... Well, Hestia never changed, and for that he was thankful. She was _home_, simply, unlike the rest of his family. However, not even Hestia's warmest smile could clean up the mess the Olympia family had forcibly piled on themselves.

And none of her hugs could make him forget that Sally Jackson was _dead_, either. Dead with a son that _mightprobablynotmaybe_ be his. A son with his coloring but her smile. A son who was named after a son of Zeus, and wow, she must have done that just to spite him,_ the little minx_.

And worse yet, Poseidon could never call her out on it.

How sad was that? Terribly, and he wanted stomp his feet and huff and scream that it just_ wasn't fair_.

Poseidon let his eyes sweep back over the boy's resting form, desperately needing to feel angry. He hadn't thought about any of this before Percy. None of it. It had all been locked away inside his head, key thrown far, _far_ away. Percy had smashed open the lock with a sledgehammer. It was all the child's fault.

Yet, Poseidon felt nothing like that. Not a single whisper of irrational rage, or the ever-so familiar sting of irritation he always felt these days. Nothing. A certain sense of pity, maybe, but even that seemed oddly ill-fitting. It was like this kid had made him physically unable to feel any hateful emotion towards him. Strange, definitely. Surprising... No, not really.

Looking at Percy's peaceful face, he knew exactly why he couldn't. _I mean,_ _come on!_ Who could hate a kid who looked so... helpless? Only a monster, surely. Could anyone even remotely _human_ feel any sort of rage towards someone who showed similarities to a half-drowned puppy, of all things? No one with a heart.

Contrary to popular belief, Poseidon happened to have one of those. One that still chose to beat like everyone else's.

However, he would still deny his slight fondness of Percy Jackson. It would be considered odd for him to suddenly become protective of someone after a single day.

Even if it was true.

Running a hand through his wild hair, Poseidon told himself it was time to go to bed, even if it was only eight forty-five. Thinking was exhausting.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Percy was embarrassed, but also very scared. He had woken up feeling this way: frightened and sick to his stomach, though he didn't know why. A bad dream, maybe. He had those sometimes. Occasionally, he would remember them after waking—swirling and dark and blood soaking through carpet and scary faces and monsters under his bed. Other times, perhaps this time, he didn't. Only the echo of anxiousness and the low thrum of uncertainty that came with all of his nightmares. This time there even seemed to be the comprehension of something. What, he wasn't sure. A strange part of him felt like a failure. As if he'd screwed up; should've known; should've done _something_.

He wondered what he'd done to cause such guilt, but he couldn't recall a single detail. Everything was so blurry.

All he knew for sure was that he was on someone's couch and his toes were _really_ cold. Like ten tiny ice cubes.

His feet forced him up the steps: one half-asleep and buzzing, the other hesitant. The boards let out a groan from underneath him. He flinched in guilt. Poseidon was probably asleep. A questioning, backwards glance towards the clock told him it was two AM. Yes, the older man most likely was.

Once he reached the top step, he halted, peering around nervously. If he was lucky he would only have to walk to one door, instead of checking all three and risking Poseidon waking up from the noise. The last thing he wanted to do was irritate him, especially since he would be sleeping in the man's guestroom completely defenseless. Percy's mind could only imagine the worst possible things Poseidon Olympia could do to him. He was usually a light sleeper, but after bad dreams he tended to either not sleep at all or completely crash. With his luck, he wouldn't even wake up when Poseidon poisoned him or began to cut out his eyes. Shuddering at the thought, his eyes caught a piece of paper taped on the nearest door to the left. Letters sharp and precise like a sword saved his butt from Poseidon's possible wrath. The sign looked more like alphabet soup to his foggy brain, but he managed to make it out after a few seconds of focused squinting.

_Guestroom_. _Your stuff is in here. I'm next door._

Percy rubbed at the grit in his eyes. Huh. His stuff? He had completely forgotten about it! Sneaking to the door, he opened it as slowly as possible, hoping it wouldn't squeak if he was extra careful. The results he got weren't perfect but certainly satisfactory. It only made a few creaks and groans. Definitely nothing loud enough to wake someone in a different room.

He slipped through the large crack of open space and shut the door behind him.

The first thing he noticed: it was dark. Now, he wouldn't say he's _afraid_ of the dark. He was too old for that. But, without his meds, his overactive imagination tended to jump back and forth between wicked things that could be _hidden_ in the darkness. Even more so than it usually did. Part of him regretted telling Mr. D he wouldn't need a new bottle of Ritalin until he got back. It was too late now.

He blindly searched for the light switch, nearly sighing in relief when he found it. It didn't take long until he saw his backpack propped up against the side of the bed. His hoodie was resting against the cream-colored comforter. His shoes were probably still downstairs. That was okay: he wouldn't need them.

The carpet muffled his movements, so he didn't have to tiptoe in fear of waking up Poseidon from the room across of his. Snatching up his bag, Percy opened it in search for his pajamas. After tossing his bagged toiletries to the side, he managed to find them. His favorite extra-large shirt and his _Finding Nemo_ pajama bottoms. They were very fuzzy and warm, and when he stripped from his clothes he was quick to put them on. Next was his shirt, its long sleeves going past his hands. It slipped off one bony shoulder, and he had to pull it up to its proper place.

He felt better and walked over to turn off the light. With the room thrown into darkness, it was slightly difficult to make it back to the bed. Thankfully, he didn't trip over his bag. Percy peeled back the covers and slipped beneath them. The comforter was a bit chilled but not unpleasant. One could even call it nice.

But Percy couldn't get comfortable.

It was so dark. The closet was menacing. The only source of light was the cracks in the door. Wind was whipping restlessly outside, and it whirled sharply by the window. _Whoosh!_ _Whip! _Percy jumped and slammed his eyes shut. Something rapped against the window. _It's just a tree branch_, he tried to reassure himself. Only a tree branch...

_Whip! Whoosh!_

Percy bolted out the door, items left behind. His thoughts were blurred by irrational fear, and the tiny part of him that wasn't petrified thought he was being silly. Honestly, he was almost eight! It was embarrassing to be this jumpy.

But it didn't matter now. What did was right in front of him. _Poseidon's door._ Poseidon was a strong looking guy, and he rationalized that he could most likely protect him if a monster decided to come out of the closet. Part of him wanted to knock and beg to be let in, _please_. Downstairs was dark, and the guestroom was plain _scary_. The other part wanted to suck it up and be a man. Poseidon was not Chiron. He hadn't even known the man for more than a day. It would be stupid to ask him if he could _sleep_ with him. Poseidon would probably screech at him for waking him, or even kick him out. He wasn't in the mood for that sort of embarrassment.

Yet his hand still knocked against the door two times. One soft, the other insistent.

He was such a—he sounded out the word in his head—mass-uh-kist. Masochist.

The sound of moody grumbling came from inside the door. Two feet thumped audibly against the floor, sheets rustling, and padded up to the bedroom's entrance. Percy took a step back as soon as the heavy wood began to crack open. He debated the pros and cons of running, but it was too late for that. Green eyes peered blearily down at him. It was hard, but he managed to meet them for a moment before switching his gaze to the floor. Poseidon cleared his throat loudly.

"Yes?" The man's voice was hoarse—Percy had obviously woken him up from a deep sleep.

With a tinge of regret, he opened his mouth to speak. "I..." Oh man, this was stupid. He should leave. Maybe the twenty something year-old was tired enough that he wouldn't notice if Percy tried to make a run for it. Taking a quick peak at Poseidon's face, all he saw was slowly dawning realization. He looked incredibly and unfortunately aware.

"Did you have a bad dream?" There wasn't any anger in his voice, and Percy couldn't hide his cringe of surprise. Poseidon sounded almost... sympathetic? It was strange. And unexpected. _Totally_ unexpected. Percy nodded slowly, not knowing what he should say. Chiron never forced him to talk when this happened, only let him snuggle into his side until he fell asleep.

Poseidon huffed a soft (but thankfully not annoyed) breath. "Come in, then. There's a couch in here you can sleep on." The man didn't bother asking what it was about or shout at him for interrupting his sleep. Percy appreciated it. All Poseidon did was open the door entirely to let him in. Percy watched him walk to his king-sized bed and grab one of the blankets. Without a glance his way, he tossed it over to him. Eyes widening, Percy stumbled to catch it. His fingers snatched it. But only just.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome."

Poseidon slipped back into his bed, and Percy was left standing in the dark. His eyes darted around, carefully taking in his dimly lit surroundings—just in case he woke up again. One black dresser, two nightstands, one flat-screen in the far corner, one bed, and a single recliner. A _very_ cushy-looking couch was a foot or two away from it, its color a deep royal blue with very uncomfortable looking throw pillows. Still, it was better than the monster-infested, lonely guest bedroom. With feet sinking into the shaggy carpet with every step, he reached the sofa and slumped ungracefully into it. He threw the blanket over his body, then turned his head once, then twice before attempting to fluff the seriously_ useless_ throw pillow with his hands. He was partly successful, and let his body go lax.

Then, Poseidon's voice cut through the darkness. "...Wake me up if you have another nightmare, okay, kid?"

He hesitated, considering. "Yeah, okay." He wouldn't.

"Goodnight, Percy."

"Goodnight."

* * *

**A/N:** _Hey, guys! Guess who got a beta? I'm sure you can tell—this chapter is a lot cleaner than the others. Their pen name is Daughter of Apollo 14, and they're great! Make sure to give them a big thank you!_

_Also, I've started school again, and I'm drowning in all of my AP work. Prepare for the worst. I'm releasing this chapter earlier than expected; hopefully this update can offer you some company during the wait for Chapter 5. This next one is gonna be _really_ late._

_Enjoy and review! (Got any suggestions for this story? I'd loved to hear them!)_


	5. Sisyphus

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings: **Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

**_Beta:_**_ Daughter of Apollo 14_

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Five: Sisyphus

* * *

Percy woke up warm and extraordinarily content. His right cheek was comfortably squished against something silky and firm; his body was heavier than he remembered it being last. He was pretty sure there was some half-dried drool on his chin and he scrubbed at it with sleep-buzzed fingers. Green eyes leaden with sleep peeped open. Two blankets, he noted blearily. Not one. Two. "Weird," he mumbled. From his blurred memories, he had fallen asleep with only the one Poseidon had given him.

Percy froze, suddenly aware, and let his sleep-addled mind catch up on the day before.

Oh, right. Poseidon, he had almost forgotten. The man had let him sleep in his room last night. That had been... _nice_ of him. Not at all like how Percy had expected the rich son of some corporate evil to act. It honestly stunned him_—_he had expected his host to tell him to "man up", not agreeably allow him into his bedroom. Shaking himself, he chose to ignore the funny, bubbly feeling building in his chest and instead stood up on two shaky legs. A hand ran its fingers through his bird's nest halfheartedly, and he allowed a small frown to show on his mouth. It would be easier to continue believing Poseidon was just some mean jerk-face. Percy hated the enigma _(what a funny word)_ Poseidon was turning out to be.

Walking out into the hallway, he paused at the vacant guest room and offered it a wary glance. The night before had left him nervous to peek inside. (Not scared, he was never scared.) Percy really didn't want to go in there quite yet, even if all of his clothes were being held hostage behind the cursed door. _Monsters, ya' know?_

Monsters were a funny business. They came in all shapes and sizes and varying colors, much like people did. A smelly man, the branches tapping on the bedroom window, a grainy image of a red stained carpet, the pretty girls with snake legs that Luke always told stories about, slide shows that haunted his dreams, _Medusa_. Himself, sometimes, when the world around him went blurry and all he could feel was a burning rage at _everything_. Murderers. Monsters, all of them.

Slowly, Percy felt his insides freeze. His blood felt like ice, and he rubbed at his arms, trying to warm up his icicle veins. Hopefully, no one would mind if he stayed in his PJs. His body gave a little shudder.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, he took tentative steps down the hardwood stairs. A few pictures caught his eye on the sand colored walls. With it being so dark last night, there'd been no chance for him to look over anything. The pieces of art were all of the ocean; their color schemes were calming hues and dull grays. Nothing that, from what he'd seen so far, matched Poseidon's tastes. While it was obvious the man enjoyed the sea, something so soft in appearance didn't fit Poseidon at all.

Maybe someone had decorated Poseidon's house for him? He was definitely rich enough. The exact opposite of Poor Percy.

He grinned and hopped off the stairs three steps before the end. At the moment, Poseidon's money didn't bother him _too _much. Good money meant good food and the heavy smell of bacon wafted from the kitchen. _Oh, yes._ His eyes zeroed in on a very familiar door. Percy was pretty sure he'd just snarled, if only a bit. If he didn't reach that delicious crispiness soon, Poseidon was going to have to drag Percy's rotting corpse from his home. He wouldn't survive.

One time, as punishment for ruining the china cabinet at the foster home, Chiron had forced him to read all the words under a letter of his choosing. Travis had been very insistent that T was the best option and, with his broadened vocabulary, Percy thought tantalizing was a good word to remember when bacon came to mind. _Tasty_ worked just as well, though.

He was getting distracted. Bacon often did that to a guy.

He needed it _now_.

So, without any further hesitation, he slipped through the door.

Percy regretted it as soon as he hit the other side. Eyes swiveled to stare at him and he stared back. A man sat on one of the bar stools stationed at the counters, unfamiliar and completely unlike the peeved Poseidon leaning against the refrigerator. The stranger was carefully poised: long, pale fingers delicately curled around a mug of steaming coffee and a painted downward curve defining his mouth. His dark hair was trailing down to his mid-back and could really use a good wash, noticeably out of place when compared to his clearly expensive suit. Percy wouldn't be surprised if that suit could buy him a small apartment and a life-time supply of gummy worms.

This stranger made Percy feel very, very cold. Black eyes pierced through Percy and his insides curled, because _nonono, don't look at him, don't look at him..._

Stop. Breathe. Back on task.

Poseidon didn't look happy. While his host was lazily dressed in a pair of baggy sweats and a plain t-shirt, he appeared uncomfortable and agitated: he chewed on his lips and kept lacing and unlacing his fingers. His inky hair stuck up in all kinds of directions. His brow was furrowed, and Percy counted three wrinkles marring his forehead and one at the corner of his eye. All in all, he looked young and angry and maybe even petulant. Not at all like the greasy man looking back into Percy's (admittedly stunned) face.

He looked relaxed but his black, black eyes were tired and very, very cold.

A plate of bacon and eggs sat in between them, like some sort of twisted prize if he could manage to cut through the tension resting in between the two adults. Percy had a tough decision to make: his breakfast or his life?

He picked the obvious choice.

Refusing to break eye contact with either of the men, he did his very best to wiggle up onto the bar stool next to the icy stranger. Slowly, deliberately, the orphan grabbed a fist full of bacon and shoved _(one, two, three, four...)_ seven of the _(eight, nine, ten, eleven...)_ fifteen pieces into his mouth without regret. The eggs were completely ignored for the stuffy _adults_ to eat, because he was nice like that.

"Good bacon," he gagged out around the breakfast food. "Very crispy." Percy popped his fingers into his mouth one after the other, licking them clean of salty goodness. "You got any syrup?"

It was incredibly satisfying to watch something close to laughter color Poseidon's eyes. He congratulated his kindness with another strip of pure heaven and took careful, refined bites. He still felt a tad wasteful eating all this food at once, but Poseidon hadn't seemed to mind at all last night when he'd ate a good three bowls of his god-pasta-whatever. Why not enjoy the endless supply of food while he could?

Percy kept his bright greens trained on the stranger a little more closely than he did his host, because_—_well, he knew how to prioritize. It definitely wasn't about _trust_. Seriously, he'd only known this guy for a day.

Poseidon offered him a nod, and Percy_—_having learned from years of careful observation_—_noticed the way the twenty-something year-old's hitched shoulders fell back down to a more relaxed slouch. Good, Percy was relieved. (Which was dumb_—_he shouldn't care.) "I've got some in the back of the fridge. Hold on." As Poseidon turned to the kitchen appliance, he threw his own question over a broad shoulder. "You use syrup on your bacon?"

"What, you don't?" Blasberry. Wait, no. Blasphemy.

Poseidon shrugged; overall, he seemed grateful to find a reason to ignore the cold, seriously creepy man in the room. "I've never tried it." Percy growled low in his throat, glaring. Poseidon arched a cautious brow, slowly handing the boy a bottle of maple syrup.

"You're one sad soul," he said, feeling genuine pity for the lost spirit in front of him. "Let me show you the light."

Scooting over the remaining bacon to one side of the plate, Percy eagerly popped off the cap and squirted a large blob of syrup onto the dish. It sluggishly spread itself out, the edge of the puddle barely brushing a mound of scrambled egg. Poseidon wrinkled his nose.

"Don't be a baby," Percy said. "Nobody likes a baby."

Poseidon huffed and grudgingly dipped a piece of bacon into the thick, amber liquid and managed to eat it with far more dignity than Percy's eight year-old self could ever truly produce. His host tasted it cautiously, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes that seemed out-of-place when paired with a crazy bedhead and ratty sweats. "Not bad," he finally conceded.

Percy nearly crowed with happiness, but then he realized something. The cold stranger had yet to speak a word (which, jeez, that _was_ weird) since he'd entered the room. Dang. He felt sort of bad now. He must have interrupted something super private. Maybe even an _exchanging of secrets_.

Percy needed to include the guy into the conversation_—_if only not to make the guy feel lonely. So, with frayed nerves, he turned to the suit and asked a simple enough question: "You wanna try?" Poseidon choked on his bacon.

The pale-skinned male gave him a long once over, his lips twisted down into what could be a sneer but could just as easily be how his face always appeared. Percy tried not to be intimidated, because Jacksons didn't scare away from _anybody_. Slowly, Percy reached for another piece of bacon and used the piece to scoop off some of the maple syrup. "Here!" He offered it to the stranger. A drop of delicious stickiness dripped down to hit the counter, but Percy paid it no mind. He had a duty to fulfill.

The stranger, however, just wrinkled his nose. He had probably just realized that an eight year-old had offered him a piece of dripping bacon with his sticky hands and spit-covered fingers. "No, thank you," the man said, and Percy noted that his voice was thin and icy but definitely not mean. "My son eats his bacon like that all the time."

"He sounds very wise," he told the elder solemnly. The stranger's facial muscles twitched, and he couldn't tell if it was involuntary or an attempt to smile. Poseidon looked to be in shock, and he appeared quite dumb to Percy with a gaping mouth and astonished eyes.

When the cooking god finally seemed to pull himself together, he managed to croak out a simple enough introduction. "Hades, this is Percy; Percy, this is Hades." Poseidon paused, flinched, and took a deep breath. "My eldest brother."

"Well, duh," Percy snorted, because really, that was supposed to be a surprise with that name? "_Hades_?"

"Right, of course. My bad, kid, I should've known."

"You're forgiven," he said through a mocking, gap-toothed grin. Hades didn't say anything, but his thin, dark eyebrows were beginning a steady journey to his hairline. Percy tended to have that sort of baffling effect on people.

"Sooo," Percy strung out, "why're you here?" He directed this towards to Hades, and he made sure to purse his lips and tilt his head like he was real curious. Really, though, he just wanted to know how two brothers could act so weird around each other_—_like they were strangers.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Poseidon"s main thought was _wow, this kid is absolutely nuts_ followed by a nearly unintelligible stream of _what-the-fuck is Hades talking to someone like an average human being oh my god is that a smile an actual smile what is this what is that?_ His head spun in disbelief—it was about as easy to talk to Hades as it was to roll a boulder uphill. Not to mention, it was hard to believe Hades had actually knocked on his door. He hadn't even called ahead. His young guest sat next to his brother with his narrow shoulders and bright green eyes, tense but obviously curious. _Well, that's two of us._

"Sooo," Percy strung out, "why're you here?"

Good question.

* * *

_God, I suck. Like, I suck pretty hard. This is so late, and wow. Just wow. I'm sorry._

_But, hey, on the bright side of things, I finished my AP exam! Next set of exams won't be for a whole three weeks. A brief freedom! (I also have an outline for the next chapter!)_

_Feel free to leave me any comments, questions, concerns—whatever you need to say. Oh, and question for you all: what are you looking forward to in this story? Anything you want to see? Don't want to see? I'm curious!_

_~Loyalty_


	6. Thanatos

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings: **Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

**_Beta:_**_ Daughter of Apollo 14_

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Six: Thanatos

* * *

The child looked just like Poseidon and that, in itself, was hilarious. Zeus' banshee of a wife would have more than one child to screech at, it seemed. Hades almost pitied his brothers. They'd have a lot to deal with. First that starlet's daughter with her daddy's eyes and dramatic flair and now this shrimp of kid with maple syrup dripping from his chin and a voice so quiet a creak of the floorboards would drown it out.

Yes, his dear brothers weren't going to be among the living much longer. And Hades wouldn't even have to lift a damn finger. Hera would do it for him. In her war path, even two "upstanding citizens" such as his brothers wouldn't survive. In her righteousness and need of a _perfect_ family, Hera was as savage as her brute of a son. After all, the volatile teen had to have gotten it from somewhere.

The small boy, Percy, didn't mince words. "Why're you here?", the Poseidon look-alike finished asking, a small tongue darting out and licking the corner of a sticky mouth. He was around Bianca's age, he thought painfully. He shoved the thought aside and focused on something happier—telling Poseidon why he had come here.

Hades might not be Zeus, but he _was_ going to enjoy dragging this out and watching Poseidon squirm. Currently, his green-eyed brother was eyeing him with an increasing unease, his knuckles white as bone as they gripped the table top. His gaze switched from Hades himself to the small Poseidon-lookalike_._ Hades allowed himself a small, thin smile.

It's not that he hated his brother; oh no, that wasn't it at all. True, he didn't_ love_ him either, but hate was an exhausting emotion. Besides, he too remembered the days when they would creep around the backyard, firing pretend weapons and reacting all the major wars as their dear elder sister prepared peach pie in the kitchen just for them. He could even recall a time more recently, before... _she_ and Bianca passed away—family dinners every Sunday, Poseidon and Hestia and Hades. They hadn't been a perfect family: they'd been broken, incomplete, but it was so much better than the useless blood ties that barely managed to hold them together now. It was a disgusting thought, a gross distraction. And Hades was a busy man. He'd dwell on their shattered family when he was dead. _(But this isn't living, so isn't he already?_)

So, he skipped right past sorrow and straight to condescension. "Well," he drawled out, "Hera gave me a call this morning." Poseidon paled. Percy only looked confused. Their faces, even when pulling different expressions, were remarkably similar.

"And?" Poseidon prompted, and Hades could detect the sudden burst fear running through his brother's veins like a poison. He felt a curl of delight.

"And," Hades said, but didn't continue.

"And?" the quiet but excited voice of a small child murmured.

Hades hid a grin behind a pale hand, and it was his frightened brother's face that popped into his mind's eye. The picture egged him on more than anything else, the need to see his brother upset and childish and angry not making any sense but being there none the less.

"She was really delighted, which was odd. She's never happy with anything."

Poseidon scowls, irritation settling into the fine lines of his young face. "You didn't come here to tell me Zeus' dear wife has suddenly had a change in heart. What's really going on?" Hades didn't bother hiding his fierce amusement; Poseidon looked a tad ill at his expression. Delight flared again.

"She mentioned a family reunion, the idiotic harpy, but now that I've come here, it seems like it would be the perfect time to show off your new bastard."

**_-P-J-O-_**

The first thing Poseidon felt was shock, closely followed by horror, because—_a family reunion?_ Really?

Then came the rage. A quick, unrecognizable slur of words and images and sounds, a _howfuckingdareyouinsultthisboysally'ssonmaybemyson_ followed by a roaring in his ears and red coating his tongue and another spew of _howdareyouaccusemeyouassdon'tyouthinkiknowtheconditionsofbianca'sbirth_. It happens so fast he's nearly breathless, but it's the unwavering need to protect that surprises the hell out of him more than anything else. It burns and burns and burns in his chest like a brand is being pressed and held there _(and it screams at him father, father, father)_. It's mind blowing. The last time he checked, he was an asshole, through and through. Self-proclaimed and unashamed. If you don't care for other people, you ultimately can't be disappointed by them. Your heart can't collect wounds if it refuses to exist.

But before he knows it there's a growl forming in the back of his throat and fingers _(his fingers)_ are screaming in agony from how hard they _(he, it's him)_ grip the counter top. He doesn't let go, because he fears that's the only thing stopping him from leaping over the marble surface and decking his prick of a brother right in front of a seven year-old _(his son?)_.

He feels unhinged; he feels confused. He feels like he's never felt before, and what the fuck does that even mean, really?

This just won't do.

Now Hades has this damn look on his face, so self-righteous and satisfied and all-knowing wrapped up in nasty amusement and a bow. There's a light in his brother's eyes and if Hades got up and left right now, Poseidon would willingly bet his lifetime supply of Twinkies _(hidden in the back closet for when Hestia visits and wants to watch chick flicks with him)_ that he'd walk away with a skip in his step. He'd also bet that he'd trip him on the way out.

This just won't do.

When he opens his mouth, he's surprised. His voice is calm and smooth as it often is. There is no trace of anxiety or pent-up rage. "Percy," he says, and the name tastes like lost chances. "I need you to get dressed and grab your things." Stunned green eyes meet his; he refuses to back down to the gaze and narrows his own green gaze. A bottom lip quivers. His heartstrings give an unexpected pull.

"Huh?" the child mumbles, helpless. It's almost too easy, because Poseidon can already see a resigned acceptance rising to the front of those expressive orbs. Years of being tossed around must have taken its toll. Poseidon hates that he's relieved _(but he is and he can't take it back)_, but it makes everything so much easier. "I thought you wanted me to talk to a reporter for you?" It's a dying man's last hope, like desperate fingers groping for a ledge to stop the inevitable fall.

Poseidon doesn't pause to think, just does. "I'll find someone better." And the kitchen door swings open then shut.

So much for progress.

He looks to Hades, who hasn't spoken a word since he turned towards the young look-alike, and watches his thin eyebrows slowly ascend to his hairline in an astounding show of skill. Watches one of the corners of his mouth tick upwards in a startled sort of confusion. It's not much of a reaction, but it's enough. Briefly, deep satisfaction curls in his belly like a snake, but it dies a pointless death too quick. Nothing good lasts. A silent sigh escapes his lips before he can hold it back. He wonders if he's made a huge mistake. _(You're not sure if this is your kid, does it really matter?)_

_(It matters, it matters. Now you'll never know.)_

"Tell Hera to shove it."

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Percy is surprised that's he's surprised, and it's this surprise that keeps him from bursting into tears as he storms out of the kitchen. He nearly stubs his toe on the doorway, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't think he can. He's on autopilot. A smudge of countless colors whirls past him as walks _(runs, he's running away)_. His breath comes out in choked gasps. _Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends_ is on the television; he hadn't noticed it before. He wonders if Poseidon turned it on just for him, and suddenly he's so upset he stumbles on the first step of the staircase and nearly falls face first into a wooden ledge. He thinks he hears a laugh, a hiss. For a flash, he sees blood on the steps, dripping and twisting and drowning everything and everyone—

He bolts up the steps. _(Monsters, monsters, Poseidon, monsters, Mommy, monsters.)_

When he hits the guest bedroom, he's barely breathing. His forehead is too warm and everything around him is closing in. There's a person standing in the corner of his vision, one with long brown hair streaked with grey and a neck at an unnatural angle. He wishes for the creaking branches again.

Something is wrapping around his throat: he can't see it, but it's there. His silent gasps become strangled whimpers. This has never happened before, not like this; this isn't normal; this isn't a panic attack; this isn't okay, _please please please_...! And suddenly, he's crying. Big, fat tears are streaming down his cheeks and there's the feeling of something locking around his pinky—a promise. Percy wants to sink through the floor. Percy wants to not exist, if only for a minute. Then the room rights itself. Then the figure is gone.

He takes a deep breath and it leaves his body as a pained wheeze.

Percy grabs his stuff and doesn't look back. Shoves it all in his bag and doesn't bother to change his clothes. He feels like a baby: a big, disoriented baby, but still a baby. He muffles his soft, panicked sobs with a shaking hand as he trips down the steps, waiting until they die out to sniffles. His vision is blurred by tears, and he's lucky he hasn't fallen and cracked his head open already.

He finds his red sneakers by the couch and wants to apologize to them for not appreciating them sooner. They're safe and they protect him like no one else ever has. He almost starts crying again. His eyes itch.

When he enters the kitchen, Hades is long gone. His chair is pushed in; it's as if he was never there. Poseidon's head is resting in his calloused hands and there's a fancy invitation beside his elbow, embroidered in royal purple and tiny bows. The plates that were originally on the counter are gone, and when he looks, he doesn't see them in the sink, either. When the man looks up at Percy, his eyes are dulled. A shadow looms over Poseidon's shoulder, and there's a sickly grin and curling talons and Percy feels cold and hot all at once. His skin stings—there's a thousand small needles stabbing him simultaneously and every hair on his body stands on end. He wonders why he hadn't noticed it before. He wonders if it's his fault that it's even there.

He hopes he never sees this man again.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

The ride to the halfway house is silent. The air is thick in the confined space, stuffed full of what-ifs and could've-beens. It's tense, uncomfortable, and cruel in nature. Mocking. A small boy huddles in the back seat, shoulders hunched and knees drawn up into his chest. Nervous, trembling fingers pick furiously at frayed pajama bottoms. His eyes continuously dart back and forth between the back of an emotionless Poseidon Olympia's dark-haired head and some place above a broad shoulder. If one were to peer into the car's window in that moment and look inside, they would find it odd. There was nothing there for the child to look at. Only empty air.

Of course, they wouldn't think much of it. Sometimes, children imagine the strangest things. Fairies and dragons and imaginary friends. Lands of wonder and intrigue, all in one backyard. Monsters tapping on windows and hiding under beds. Shadows and talons and stretched grins. Snapped necks and long brown hair.

_Sometimes, children imagine the strangest things._

A boy leaves the car, and with a numb mind and blind determination, he says "goodbye".


	7. Oracle

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings: **Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

**_Beta:_**_ Daughter of Apollo 14_

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

_**BLOOD/GORE TRIGGER WARNING IN EFFECT. PANIC/ANXIETY ATTACKS. NO TRULY GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS.**_

* * *

Chapter Seven: Oracle

* * *

Poseidon could admit to himself that he had made a mistake. An awful one. He'd panicked, overreacted; allowed his brother to take hold of his emotions. He had all but given his brother the key to his personal damnation. _Good one, Poseidon. You did a great job._

His brother would take stock in his reaction to Percy and use it against him whenever it suited him best. There was no doubt in his mind. Hades was a cunning, ruthless man; he would not waver.

Well, neither would he.

Poseidon decided, with a locked jaw and grinding teeth, that he _would_ go to the family reunion. If there was one thing the Olympia brothers had in common, it would be stubbornness. And possibly stupidity. _(Most likely stupidity.)_ He refused to back down.

Poseidon had a week before the reunion began, and he allowed himself that time to assemble his plan of action. His room found itself in shambles the second day in: piles of forgotten clothes, protein bar wrappers strewn across the floor haphazardly, and the harsh stench of defeat clinging persistently in the air. He was woefully unprepared, and there was only one thing he could do. _Call Hestia. _There were few people he trusted more than her.

And _bless her_, she picked up at the third ring.

Their phone conversation wasn't long, exactly, but it did leave little left to be said. His elder sister barely had time to give a brief hello before he blurted out his distress, "Hades is blackmailing me, Hestia, and I don't know what to do and there's a family reunion and I told Hades to tell Hera to shove it, oh God, Hestia, I'm going to be in so much trouble; _what if my tie doesn't match the table cloth_?" A quick pause, a gasp for breath, the swell of horror rising in his chest. "Hestia, does my tie have to match the table cloth?"

Hestia did what she always did in these sort of situations: she laughed.

"I'll be over in an hour."

Hestia Olympia was the calmest person he had ever had the pleasure to know. She never yelled, never demanded, never assumed. She was a thousand years old and a mere child at once, possessing both common sense and blinding optimism in spades. Her stature was petite and delicate, her black curls tamed and her eyes always warm and brown like the finest hot chocolate. Whenever Poseidon was in her presence, he felt wrapped up in her warmth as if it was a thick, well-loved blanket, and she never failed to bring a grin to his face.

Basically, she was a damn good sister, and Poseidon probably _(definitely)_ didn't deserve her.

When she arrived exactly an hour later, wrapped in one of the many scarves he bought her every holiday, her smile was infectious. Poseidon caught it so fast, he was positive it wouldn't budge until she marched out his door. Hestia, however, didn't leave; instead, she let her determination shine through as she danced her way towards his room. As usual, she denied being given any refreshments with the wave of a dainty hand. "Don't be silly, Poseidon. I'm not here to be pampered: I'm here to save your sorry butt."

"We can do the awesome sibling stuff later."

When they reached his room, she scolded him gently. She clucked her tongue at the mess he had made. "Come on now, I taught you better." Almost immediately, he felt eight years old again, having trashed the kitchen with his brothers for the billionth time. When Poseidon began to laugh at that memory, his sister didn't hesitate in giving him a soft punch on the shoulder. They mainly worked in silence—Hestia was a soft-spoken, self-assured woman. She didn't need to fill a space with words to melt comfortably into it. But, despite the lack of communication, his sister had found him an outfit, planned out a perfect way for him to avoid both Hades and Hera, _and_ managed to sneak into the kitchen to make cookies while he was changing out of his chosen attire in record time.

Six gooey chocolate chip cookies, three tall glasses of milk, two ridiculous chick flicks on the television, and one _Twinkie_ box lying empty on his coffee table later, his big sister left. She pressed a kiss to his cheek as she stepped out the door. "Try not to shrivel up without me," she said, and Poseidon wished—not for the first time—that he had three Hestias instead of only one _(plus two assholes on the side)_.

Before he knew it, it was time for the family reunion. With a start, he realized he hadn't sent the appropriate warning in advance, and, idly, he wondered if that meant he was _bashing his own family reunion_.

He drove all the way there with a half-formed laugh caught in his throat and the taste of anxiety coating his tongue. _(It was cherry medicine and vomit with a squeeze of lemon, and Poseidon hated himself for greeting the feeling like an old friend.)_

Poseidon arrived in front of a four story house, all finely carved columns and gold detailing, and wondered, bitterly, if there were diamonds implanted into the home's very foundations. He wouldn't be surprised.

When he reached the door with its fancy-shmancy windows and crystal doorknob, he asked himself if it was too late to turn back. Despite this nagging question, he didn't hesitate in throwing open the door. It didn't feel dissimilar to opening a gate to Hell.

Hera met him almost immediately, her fixed, polite smile stretched across her beautiful face. Her hair was long and straight, the color of black licorice, and Poseidon arched a brow at the almost _vicious_ look in her light brown eyes. A small, blonde boy clutched the end of her white dress, bunching up the expensive fabric in his tiny, dirt-stained fists. He immediately recognized him as Zeus' boy, the younger one of the two children his most famous conquest had given birth to. Jason, he thought his name was.

So much for avoiding the sister-in-law from Hell.

"Hello, Hera," he said, but only after the stretch of silence grew too much for him. With a pause, he attempted to shoot the six year-old a grin. The boy only hid himself further, and well, Poseidon had never liked kids much anyways.

"Poseidon," the wife of Zeus greeted in response, using her manicured nails to tuck a piece of inky hair safely behind one ear. "We weren't expecting you." Her tone was stiff, cold. Not very familiar. Poseidon only grinned. His shoulders gave a shrug, feigning nonchalance.

"Well, I'm always so concerned about the family. How's Thalia, by the way?" He watched her increasingly stormy expression with questionably contained glee. The twenty-four year old could never understand how cold Hera could be to one child, but so warm and welcoming to the other. At least hate the both of them equally. They came from the same mother.

Hera and Poseidon didn't speak much after that.

As he walked into the living room, he noticed two things. One, it was heavily decorated. He caught a glance of Apollo, Zeus' sixteen year-old adopted son, with his blond head wrapped in strings of out-of-season holiday beads, before he flounced up the stairs to do only God knows what. A single, blue eye winked down at him before he disappeared from sight. Two, _Athena_ was there.

Of course, she was as striking as ever.

Now, Poseidon and Athena _used_ to have a thing. He'd been eighteen, she'd been twenty two. He'd met her at some odd function of Zeus', and needless to say, they'd hit it off. And by hit it off, he meant that he'd spilled a whole punch bowl on her cream-colored pantsuit and she'd punched him square in the nose. Right in front some of her clients. They'd fallen into bed the very same night.

It didn't take long for him to do something stupid and for her to get fed up. She'd left him with a very intelligent and comprehensive note, which included a neat list of all the reasons why he was a terrible match for her and possibly anyone ever.

Poseidon had laughed for days.

Now, however, here she was again, despite having no familial relation to the Olympias. She stood relaxed, with her thick hair piled up into a no-nonsensical bun, her front faced towards a tiny, athletic-looking girl with auburn locks and proud features not hereditary but learned through years of seeing the exact expression on both of her adopted parents. Poseidon immediately recognized the girl as Artemis, Zeus' only adopted daughter. He stifled his surprise: he hadn't known them to be friends.

He didn't dare approach them, but he did shoot Athena a grin as he strolled to the kitchen. It was satisfying to watch her stormy grey eyes narrow at him in carefully suppressed rage. It was also satisfying to look at her long, _long_ legs when he turned his head back to whisper one partially sincere but mostly mocking "nice to see you again" before crossing the entryway.

The warm feeling in his chest died by ice, however, when he saw Hades murmuring to Zeus, the cunning smirk on Hades' cold features draining him of strength as Zeus steadily turned purple in the face. His breath left him in a _whoosh_. His eyes darted to take in all of the situation and its unfortunate additions. He had never expected Hades to just come out and_ tell_ his middle brother. He'd always been so subtle in comparison to Zeus and himself.

Any thoughts of Hestia's plan left his mind.

Hephaestus was the only one who noticed him, his ugly face formed into a familiar, awkward twist of the lips and a slight head tilt as he tinkered with his scarred, careful hands. The eldest, adopted son of Zeus was most likely the brightest man he knew, and something inside him groaned as he realized the nineteen year-old was listening to every word Hades pronounced.

Thalia, with her short black hair and curious eyes, watched avidly from the kitchen table. A small boy next to her swung his legs back and forth, causing the chair across from him to be pushed farther and farther away. Poseidon just barely managed to catch his enthusiastic giggles as he said "and Bianca says, and Bianca says" over and over. The young girl's distracted smile became fixed to her delicate face; her cheeks stretched into an unnatural facial expression. She appeared rather pained.

"Did she, now?"

"And sometimes she's _all _red!"

"A _boy_, aye? You've got to be joking, Hades, there's no way Poseidon—"

Persephone, or Rosaline before she married Hades and took the name of his mythical wife, strolled in with a curly-haired girl at her side. Poseidon took his last chance and fled.

For the next couple of months, Poseidon didn't stop for anything. His work consumed his life; colors grew dull. And Kronos was pleased.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

It had started out alright, really.

Chiron had been incredibly happy to have Percy back early. He'd patted him cheerfully on his head, eyes all-knowing and body language relaxed and welcoming as ever. Percy had sunk into his embrace, eager and badly shaken; his knees bumped against the seat of his caregiver's wheelchair. Before he knew it, he had his tear-streaked face buried into a tweed-clad shoulder. A slightly hysterical laugh had passed his lips. Warm arms folded around him and there was a wonderful feeling of _warmlovesafe,_and he'd promised right then and there to never take what he had for granted_._

"I really missed you," was all he had said, however, as words like monster and mommy and _scared_ lost themselves in a whirlwind of overwhelming relief.

Then Percy had straightened himself up, furiously wiped away his tears with white-knuckled fists, and smiled. Chiron had been startled by the sudden change, but nonetheless offered his own tentative grin in return.

"Don't tell Conner or Travis I cried on you," Percy grumbled. "Or they'll think I'm a big baby."

"And Luke?"

"Luke's _cool_, Chiron. He'd be totally _uncool_ if he started being a jerkbutt like those guys."

"Of course," the man had agreed readily, and that was that.

Days stretched into months and before Percy knew it, school was starting up again. He'd spent the majority of his summer going back-and-forth between Chiron's place and the halfway house. He used up the hot summer afternoons playing around with Tyson and the evenings sipping fresh lemonade and foiling the Stolls' evil plots to destroy Chiron's precious herb garden. Sometimes, Luke had even joined in, when he wasn't being all angsty and teenagery and stuff. Every Thursday night was movie night for Chiron and his four charges, and Percy was delighted to pick _F__inding Nemo_ every time. _(The others would groan, but Percy _knew _the movie was growing on them.)_ It was a bit routine, sure, but it was nice and probably the best summer he had ever had. Minus that one Poseidon-shaped smudge marring the month of June.

_Percy hated that smudge._

But, minus that, everything really _was_ looking up. He'd been taking his medicine lately, and, to his shock and intense relief, _the monsters were gone. _No snapped necks or leering grins stretched from ear-to-ear, no long brown hair streaked grey or hands formed into fearsome claws. His dreams were a different story, but everyone was a work-in-progress (or so Chiron said). _(Chiron's always right, though, so obviously Percy believed him.)_

It was going to be okay.

His birthday was a particularly nice one. He cataloged that particular day in August as one of his best; he boasted about his mature age of eight for days afterward, stubborn in his ignorance of the nine and ten year old Stolls' angry protests.

School ended up being as boring as it always had been, but Chiron _insisted_ that it was important. Not wanting to hurt the man's feelings, he didn't complain about it to his face anymore. Instead, he held lengthy discussions with the two brothers, occasionally with Luke throwing in a sentence or two if he was willing. Percy was glad to see the blond warming up to him after so long. While he'd always been polite, the older boy seemed to be observe him closely for some reason. As if he thought Percy was some strange puzzle yet to be solved—one of those super hard ones with 2,000 pieces and no cool pictures to make it worthwhile.

On his first day of school, he'd been lucky enough to meet a boy named Grover. He was a tall, scrawny boy with curly hair and forest green crutches. Percy hadn't asked him, but Grover willingly explained that he had something wrong with legs—a disease, or something. Percy didn't push, and Grover didn't bother to clarify. Not that it made any difference to him, honestly. He was a fun dude to be around, and Percy appreciated having a friend outside of the halfway house. It didn't matter that Grover was probably older than his other classmates, or that he had bad acne and a funny laugh. Grover tutored him in History and he always ate Percy's leftovers when he felt too sick to shovel down anymore. That was a good friend in his book.

In return, of course, Grover managed to get himself a bodyguard. Percy only hoped it was an even trade.

Chiron hadn't been pleased with the new bruises and bloody lip his charge had gained, but Percy thought it was well worth a friend.

Eventually, the new group went from two to three. It was a gradual thing. In the beginning, perhaps the second week of school, it had just been odd flashes of red in the halls. By the third week, notes showed up taped to his cubbyhole with silly doodles of dolphins and goats going on adventures with something that appeared to be an owl tagging along for the ride. Percy had been wary, but the little comics were nice and no one had ever been so thoughtful to him before.

Fourth week of school, he got paint-brushes and colored pencils chucked at his head with a return address of the girl's bathroom engraved into all of them. He'd rolled all of them into said bathroom the next morning, but unfortunately, a teacher caught him in the act. That'd been particularly _hard_ to explain to Chiron.

Fifth week of school, a pretty redhead plopped down next to him and Grover at their designated table by the trashcan. The third day of that same week she identified herself as Rachel, and honestly, Percy was just relieved that he didn't have to call her "little red" anymore.

Rachel was a strange kid. She wore her wild red hair in several different buns across her tiny head (each tied up in different colored bands) and colored in her many freckles in every color of the rainbow. Her clothing—stylish, _expensive_ dresses and pantyhose fit for an old lady—was perpetually dotted with paint and smeared with either charcoal or Oreo dust. He'd never seen her without a sketchbook. In fact, he was positive that she kept several on her person, hidden in mysterious places to use at any given time.

Percy may not have a great understanding of girls, but even he knew this wasn't exactly normal.

Rachel enjoyed to prattle about strange creatures during their lunches together, filling her numerous sketchbooks with frightening monsters of all shapes and sizes. Her eyes always took on a strange green cast whenever she discussed these things, her voice going low and wispy like fog. It made Percy feel cold.

Then Grover would nab his apple or his sandwich and all would be right again.

The sixth week took a turn for the worst. His nightmares rose with a vengeance he hadn't been prepared for. Percy spent that week skulking the halls like a zombie, stepping on the back of his classmates' ratty sneakers and getting in trouble for dozing in class. His teachers mumbled their concerns behind his back, and he felt adrift in a black sea he didn't know how to swim in. His already dismal grades went from Cs to Ds in record time. Knowing of the disappointment he'd find there, Percy hadn't bothered to meet his caretaker's eyes in quite awhile. His new friends at school didn't know how to handle him, and Grover was always undecided when Percy handed over his entire lunch to the gangly boy. Rachel still paid him no mind, however, nicking herself a single lollipop from his lunch bag. Percy didn't care: his appetite was shot. The very thought of food made his stomach churn.

Rachel stared with thoughtful green eyes and a down-turned mouth stained grape.

On the second day into the seventh week, a cloudless Tuesday, he sat at lunch in a daze. Grover let out a nervous bleat every few minutes or so, a shaky hand running through his damp brown hair. Nancy Bobofit had decided it would be a great idea to chuck her peanut-butter and ketchup sandwich at him earlier in the day, and both Rachel and Percy had held the honor of helping him get it out of his curly locks with wet paper towels and a lot of elbow grease. Rachel had thought it was hilarious at the time, but Percy hadn't been thrilled. The artistic redhead was currently doodling frantically in her sketchbook, and Percy watched with wide eyes as the familiar image of kaleidoscope eyes and long locks formed itself on the page. The woman on the page rested a thin hand on top of a messy-haired boy's head, and while their resemblance seemed little to him, it was still obvious they were related. Mother and son. His throat tightened uncomfortably, but Rachel only smiled.

"Hiding the problem doesn't make it go away, you know?"

He had to leave early that day, after having a panic attack during math, and whispers filled the halls that not even the teachers knew how to shush.

That weekend he woke up to _red_.

His arms were covered in claw marks. They went from wrist to elbow, long slits and slashes that left puckered flesh on his arms like valleys of blood. Percy was so shocked he could only squeak out a shallow gasp. The wounds weren't deep enough to need stitches (hopefully), but that didn't stop the copious amount of blood from coating his arms and dying his sheets and pajamas an all-too-familiar shade. Everything hurt and his head pounded to the beat of his rapidly racing heart. Breath came out in panicked huffs for air, but he somehow _(magic must be real, and Percy must have it_) managed to escape to the bathroom without being heard. Percy spent the majority of his morning there, either puking his guts out or wrapping bandages tightly around his arms until he was positive nothing would bleed through. When he finally left the bathroom, clad in a new long-sleeved shirt and bloody rags hiding in wait underneath the sink in reeking ball, Luke was lounging at the kitchen table with a steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup residing on a paper towel. When Percy too sat down, the teen pushed the bowl over to him with a knowing smile. A glass of orange juice was not far behind.

Percy'd never been so thankful towards one person in his entire life.

The next morning he found bite marks on his ankles. It was surprising and just as frightening as the day before, and he had to wrap them up as well. He was an actual mummy, but he didn't dare tell Chiron and went to the halfway house as normal. His whole body ached, but messing around with Tyson and the other kids was a nice distraction. Melanie taught him a little French—mainly curse words. The volunteer workers were suspicious of his awkward stance, but said nothing. (He once again praised Chiron mentally for making his visits there only on an afternoon basis. The caretakers there were far more intrusive than his own foster parent.) The Stoll brothers helped him make blueberry smoothies later in the afternoon. Percy wondered how pathetic he must have looked if even Conner and Travis were willing to put up with his strange blue habit.

That night he didn't sleep. The monsters _(he thought that's what they were, but he prayed he was wrong)_ stayed away.

So, with this in mind, he spent the next week trying not to sleep at all. Which was fine. He was fine.

Ninth week, fifth day. Rachel sketched and shaded pill bottles and medicine containers all over the pages of a brand new sketchbook. She unabashedly pulled out a small plastic case filled with watercolors and painted her art right before their stunned eyes, dipping her brush in her water bottle as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He stared at the page as she painted to her heart's content, the world blurring around the edges.

Percy woke up one morning and realized that not seeing the monsters was worse than seeing them all the time. At least then he knew when they were coming. His wrists dripping blood and the bruises trailing down his throat attested to it.

(God, he hated turtlenecks, this had to _end_.)

Rachel smiled her strange smile with her glowing green orbs and asked him if he understood yet. Grover hadn't known what was happening, but Percy just might've.

He spent English class sitting next to the redhead, odd shapes and colors floating just inside his field of vision. They did their best to blur and confuse him every time they spun his way, and he worked hard not to flinch back and hide with them so close. His breathing rose, anxiety tightening his throat in their hold, and he practiced all the breathing exercises he had ever learned. Unexpectedly, Rachel grabbed his shoulder. He locked his bewildered eyes onto hers as angry whispers roared to life.

She looked directly at the shapes and grinned.

When Chiron gave him his medicine the next day, Percy pretended to swallow in front of his caregiver's cautious eyes. He waited patiently till the man left to spit out the contents of his mouth. _The coast was clear._ Percy thought he might have finally _understood_ what Rachel had been trying to tell him. She was weird, yeah, and he had no idea how she knew, but he trusted her not to steer him wrong. He just hoped he could trust himself.

That day, the world exploded into color.

* * *

**A/N:**_** You have no idea what's going on. "What sort of Human!AU is this?" you ask, bewildered. "The best kind," I answer.**_

_I've noticed that, no matter the fanfiction, Hestia is featured as the best sister/aunt/goddess/being ever. Everyone agrees she's fantastic. So why not take a whack at doing my favorite PJO goddess justice? _

_Please leave a review if you're able—I love character evaluations, don't you? I've also been dying for some proper criticism. What's good, what's bad, what's terrible?Oh, and t__hanks for reading, everyone! I appreciate it._


	8. Chimera

_**Rated:** T, for pretty obvious reasons._

_**Trigger Warnings (TW):** Mentions of medication, swearing, disturbing thoughts, Percy being just too adorable for words, blood (but not necessarily gore), possibly panic attacks, and the usual innuendos that come with Poseidon being a total asshat with a thing for vagina among other sexual organs._

_**Pairings: **Canon Olympian pairings, ones that go along with the original mythology—such as Hera/Zeus. There'll be some implied stuff, of course, like past Poseidon/Sally, past Athena/Poseidon, but it's mainly focused on Poseidon and Percy's father-son relationship. We'll see where it goes from there._

_**Spoilers:** None, as far as I know._

**_Beta:_**_ Daughter of Apollo 14_

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own jack, man. But Riordan definitely owns my soul._

* * *

Chapter Eight: Chimera

* * *

Six months later.

It was a dreary morning, like every morning, and Percy tumbled off his bed and onto the floor in a twist of childish limbs. His already skinned knee slammed down on the hard surface below him, and his worn teddy bear protested with a furious squeak as it smacked against a wooden floorboard. Stars danced and shifted over his head, and it took a few bleary moments (only five minutes or so, honest) to realize that it was not the sky above him but his comforter writhing with his struggles to disentangle himself. He kicked off the covers with an embarrassed huff. That's the second time this week, he thought.

The world, he notes, looked to be a multicolored blur around him, made up of nothing but various blues and vague shapes. He blinked the sleep from his eyes. Percy waved at the gaping mouth and floating body hovering by his windowsill. The figure garbled a low greeting and wiggled its fingers made of intertwined snakes in response. The snakes also hissed out a "hello", or possibly a "you're looking extra tasty today, Percy". Also like every morning, yet Percy still couldn't quite discern what the snakes were trying to say. The severed hand resting on his nightstand, blackened with decay, handed him his glass of water with a well-practiced flourish.

"Thank you," he said and took a large gulp. Wrinkling his nose, he set the glass back down: it tasted metallic, like blood. But it did wake him up, and he found himself more alert than he was before the sip. In a practiced motion, he looked around his room. He saw his Captain America posters and all his old toy soldiers lining his windowsills; the dream catcher hanging above his head swung to-and-fro without wind. Percy padded to his bathroom with a tiny, satisfied grin. Nothing was smashed or broken, and for once, his eyes did not sting from the ever insistent Sandman begging him back to bed. That was not like every morning: it was the antithesis of every morning. Possibly every morning's arch nemesis.

The nightmares that he once had were (because the story is written in the past tense, it feels a bit strange to read this sentence in the present tense) gone, that's true, but it's rare that he gets a full night's rest.

He snagged a pair of jeans and a few other garments from his closet, ripping them from their hangers and pointedly ignoring the guilt that he will later feel at wrecking the room his foster father had helped him clean. A few of the hangers had fallen to the floor. He'll clean it later before Chiron can find out, he promised himself. The walk from his bedroom to the bathroom was a short trip, and his feet followed the routine they'd mapped out months ago with ease. His mind elsewhere and his head stuffed with cotton, he absentmindedly walked past the goat-legged man chewing through his old comic books. Percy considered himself way too old for those anyway. It's fine.

The bathroom was as spotless as ever: Chiron always made sure of that. The towels were folded into swans. Percy glanced up at the cream-colored ceiling and prayed for patience. That man. He ended up using one of the swans to wash his face, and if he left it crumpled up in the sink once he was done, where it looked sad and defeated, it was only because it looked at him funny. After brushing his teeth, he put the clothes he had tucked under his arm, unconcerned with tthe time. Chiron would be upset if he walked out of the house covered in suspicious stains.

Chiron would make a good dad.

He pointedly doesn't look into the mirror until he's layered on two tank-tops and a baggy sweater. Running his fingers through his hair, he squinted two inquisitive green eyes at his reflection. If he didn't brush his hair, Chiron'd probably notice. Percy shrugged at his mirror self. Nah, Chiron will let it slide. Then he slapped on some of his foster dad's aftershave on his cheeks—the woodsy kind he'd stolen from Chiron's bathroom cabinet—just because he could.

That, and it made him feel pretty darn cool.

When his socked feet pounded down the steps, he nearly tripped on the last step. The mouth-watering smell of extra-cheesy scrambled eggs and ham beckoned to him. Chiron greeted him with a warm smile and arms opened for a hug. And Percy's heart sank to his feet.

"Breakfast?" The man in the wheelchair asked. His beard was trimmed to be extra neat today, and Percy dimly wondered what the occasion was.

"No," Percy said and felt awful. "I should get going." It was a school day; Conner and Travis and Luke were either on their bus or already in their first class of the day. He ignored the arms outstretched to him, and they lowered, wilted really. Chiron's smile became a tad forced.

"What about the bus?"

"I'm gonna walk." He then snatched half a bagel right as it popped out of the toaster, shoved it down his throat, and went to march out the front door. A lady with one eye in the middle of her pretty face tossed him a jacket, and he mouthed a thanks to her. "Bye," he called. Then he walked away. He tried not to think too much.

See, the thing was, since he stopped taking his medicine, his life was a constant teetering between better and worse.

The strange creatures did not vanish: no, not at all. The whispers turned to screams, and the shadows turned to looming figures. It was a gradual thing, like slowly turning up the radio volume in the car until everyone's eardrums buzzed. Everything was intensified, and Percy's mind fizzed with a thousand different thoughts, each passing before he could blink, leaving only imprints behind. The shadows grew loud and Rachel's eyes took on a permanent green cast.

It was a sensory uproar, and he might've been drowning in the new feeling of everything, everything at once.

Men had goat legs and women bared their fangs. Boys made of sand scraped their hands across his skin to leave friction burns. Scary monsters leered at him in class and ripped giant gashes in his clothes, in his skin. It was a constant thrum of activity, and it swirled around him in a synchronized dance. Maybe ballet or ballroom.

It was odd. The dreams stopped almost immediately, thankfully—almost as if they'd been meant to entice him into believing, nothing more. He no longer saw the long brown hair or snapped neck. At least, he did not catch his mother in anything more than quick, flashing glimpses. It's not her, it's not her, you know it's not her—

No longer did he need nightmares to see them. Percy knew they were real. They could touch him, not only when he was asleep, when it was impossible not to believe in them, but also while awake, and others could see where they had left their marks. Grover saw the claw marks on his wrists; Rachel caught a glimpse of the bruises on his throat, where pretty ladies with their snake eyes would press their lips into the junction where his shoulder and neck met before he could flinch away. ("What a pretty boy!")

Sweaters were a godsend, probably.

To his astonishment, he found they were a lot like him. Just kids. When Percy became mad—and boy, did he—they noticed, and before he had time to process, they'd pout like little children and melt into shadow and vapor. It's only then that he could not see them, but that didn't mean he didn't know they were there. Their presence clung to his skin. Sat at his scratched up desk in school, he could feel them out in the playground, climbing the monkey bars and pushing each other on swings. It was disorienting at first, but usually, the monsters wanted to be seen. The disappearing act displeased them. When Percy had ignored them for too long, they grew restless and bitter, pulling at his hair and whining to play.

He arrived at school early and sat outside on one of the benches near the front entrance, scratching in a distracted manner at the long series of scabs on the inside of his tanned wrist. The monsters still loved to scratch. That hadn't changed.

He could handle all that, though. That wasn't an issue. A little pain never hurt anyone, and while their constant seeking him out was obnoxious, it could definitely be worse.

The problem was that Percy couldn't touch anyone.

It was a slow development: a realization that triggered a series of events he couldn't put a stop to.

He'd hugged Conner once, to thank him for reminding Chiron to pick up his favorite blue Kool-Aid powder packets. He'd wrapped his skinny arms around his waist with a stream of "thank you, thank you, thank you", and he'd seen the older boy's eyes widen. Percy watched as his gaze settled on something just beyond Percy's shoulder, recognized his shock and horror as he'd pulled back from his surprise embrace. Percy had let go quickly, seeing the boy's mouth open to let out a loud shriek.

He'd watched Conner blink when his touch had left him, watched his eyes lose focus. Watched him shake his head and laugh it off with an awkward, uncomfortable grin. Percy turned and a jackal-headed monster wiggled his fingers innocently back, his eyes only interested in Conner. Percy had felt sick. Monsters weren't supposed to be seen by people—normal people. Only Percy could see.

He couldn't touch Conner.

The next time something similar to that happened, was when, nearly a week later, Chiron had scooped up Percy into his lap to give him a ride around the house. Before Percy could even let out a gasp, a giggling sprite with no whites in their eyes and sickly green skin had grabbed onto the man's shoulders and nearly pushed him out of his wheelchair. Percy had cried for a straight hour. Monsters weren't supposed to be able to touch people—normal people. Only Percy could be touched.

He couldn't touch Chiron. He couldn't touch anyone.

But that was okay. That was fine. If only it weren't so hard to avoid the touch of everyone around him.

Percy's school was low budget—their classrooms were small and their hallways were smaller. With everything so pressed together, it was difficult not to bump against another body, even when walking in straight lines through the stained, carpeted halls. He had to practically hug the off-white, inspirational poster-speckled walls in order to dodge the children walking past him. The cafeteria tables were no better, and they all sat side-to-side, shoulder-to-shoulder. Unfortunately, with so little wiggle room, he found himself having to curl up in a ball so tight his entire body ached. Percy did his best to make himself as compact as possible—his shoulders slouched into one another, nearly touching, and his back hunched terribly. His spine always twinged in protest when he straightened out.

He could handle it, though. Really. No trouble at all.

Admittedly, Percy was a tactile person. He always became jumpy when people touched him without notice, true, but that never meant he didn't need that sort of positive contact. When it came to his friends, he needed touches such as brushing shoulders and friendly handshakes to feel secure. It reinforced the bonds he made. Without it, he found himself becoming anxious, and his hands often shook wildly with the need to reach out and initiate contact. He liked sitting in Chiron's lap when they went grocery shopping, and while he'd never admit it, he found Rachel playing with his hair during recess after a few games of hide-and-go-seek to be nice. It eased the stress out of a monster-infested day. Fist bumps with Grover were becoming a daily ritual, and the idea of having to look over his shoulder before even contemplating moving his hand frayed at his nerves.

Okay, so maybe he couldn't handle it as well as he said he could, but it was a start. At least now he could identify when they showed up and when they left. He could dodge when they struck out, and know which were mostly harmless and others that were to be avoided at all costs. It eased his mind, and for the first time since the recently-dubbed "Sea-God Incident", he felt less afraid and more determined to not allow them to ruin his life.

That didn't mean the monsters didn't try to anyway. They definitely did. But he wasn't a little kid anymore. He was almost nine. Four months to go.

A bell rang; Percy jolted and looked around in a panic. The outside of the school had filled up in his thoughts, and he hadn't noticed the front grass and sidewalk of the school beginning to fill with the students and parents of HB Elementary School. Everyone began to pool inside, and the parents waved goodbye with soft smile, hugs, and claps on the shoulder. Percy felt a pang in his chest.

A dog made only of jagged bone barked at his feet and nipped at his baggy jeans. Percy had no idea how all its pieces managed to stay together and function. He pat it roughly on the head, and when he proceeded to do nothing more, it totted off, peeved.

Percy walked into the school.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Percy decided to walk home from school. He always preferred to do this, actually, but considering the long walk and the bad neighborhood, Chiron usually insisted he take the bus. However, with the new desire to escape contact with Chiron as much as possible, he'd chosen to ignore that advice. Sorry, Chiron.

So, here he was, walking home alone. An odd creature growled at him, its lion face twisted in menace and its tail ended with the head of a hissing snake. Percy instantly jumped back. A chimera, something in him supplied.

The knowledge came to him in a quick, shocking burst, and he jolted a little at the intrusion.

He remembered his mom telling him about the chimera in Greek mythology, and he grinned wide at that, hearing her voice lower in mock seriousness as they curled together on his twin bed, his stepfather's snoring oddly similar to a snarling beast. He recalled how they'd giggled and gasped whenever his snores rose in volume, sounding like roars and accidentally mimicking that of the chimera. Percy may have been only four when Sally Jackson died, but he never seemed to forget those stories. With his eyes firmly glued to the sidewalk, he felt something akin to homesickness curl in his belly. His foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk.

He crashed into someone's broad chest. He fell.

Someone caught him. Pulled him back up.

Hands on his shoulders. Green eyes.

"Oh," Poseidon Olympia said.

"Oh," Percy replied.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Poseidon worked a lot. He drank a good bit, too, but that was never really his thing, and honestly, he did a bad job at it. He wasn't exactly sure why he was drinking so much, but as Hestia told him quite bluntly—you're trying to forget, and also, you're an idiot. Well, she wasn't wrong on either accounts. If anything, she was startlingly astute as usual. Poseidon was both trying to forget, and of course, a complete idiot. Though he wasn't convinced that it was the reason he was drinking. Personally, he thought his father was enough to drive anyone to drink. Considering that he worked more than he did anything else, even drinking or partying or living it up with women (and men, he wasn't picky), he figured he had the right to blame Kronos for his life at the moment.

Hestia just shook her head and said, "We're pretty sure you had an illegitimate son with the only person you've ever loved. This is all on you, dear."

Yeah, well. Thanks, Hestia.

Hestia was the only person he'd been willing to admit the whole "might possibly have an eight-year old, whoops" to, and she reacted just as remarkably helpful and sisterly as she had when he crashed Hera's family reunion.

When he'd told her, hands shaking and eyes averted to the side, ashamed and frightened and feeling very much twenty-four for the first time in a long time, she'd shocked him by smiling. She smiled a very large, very excited grin, and said, "Is he as cute as you were as a kid, Nicky?" After Poseidon managed to breathe again, as well as scowl and insist that "you don't get to call me that ever, it's Poseidon; Nicky is fucking dead, Hestia, how dare you, etc, etc." in childish exasperation, he felt the relief sweep over him in a wave.

He told her, yeah, he's pretty cute. "Then you better let me babysit him—Hera never lets me, and Hades is much too awkward to ever ask."

And that was that.

Not everyone was as accepting as Hestia, however, even though she was the only one to officially know of his son-related concerns. Hera somehow heard the news, of course, most likely through Zeus, and was calling him every hour of the day, insistent on her quest to discover the truth. Oddly enough, she didn't seem too angry, merely curious, with a desperation he hadn't been expecting. She asked for detail after detail: who's the mother, what does he look like, is he like you, are you sure he's yours, when can I meet him? She seemed ravenous for every detail. Poseidon still ignored her, obviously, but he was a tad more kind during the times he could no longer avoid her calls. Sometimes it slipped his mind that she was unable to bare children. Zeus was a different matter.

The man was livid.

Now, Poseidon always preferred to call Zeus the "younger brother", usually in jest due to their seven year age-gap with Poseidon's twenty-four years and Zeus' thirty-one, but in moments like these were, he could truly say Zeus fit the bill of the younger sibling. He had stormed into his home just yesterday, right in the middle of the night, demanding an explanation about this orphan bastard of his—Poseidon had been so livid at that he'd nearly spit—and had refused to leave until Poseidon "admitted to his wrongdoing". Yeah, like hell. Hades had stood near Zeus' shoulder, looking ever-so-slightly smug to see Poseidon's rage yet still put upon to be on Zeus' side for once.

Poseidon wasn't having any of that.

So, here Poseidon was, sipping at some strange concoction at four o'clock in the afternoon in some dive bar on his first day off in weeks. The strange beverage was a toxic blue and tasted vaguely minty with the added burn of vodka. The bartender, a kid barely looking twenty-one, lifted their heavily pierced eyebrow and offered him a tiny umbrella. It was dotted with just as minuscule pineapples. Poseidon took it.

"'Ya looked like 'ya needed one," they told him. He couldn't argue against that, so he merely twirled the tiny replica in response. "And I know it's no cure-of-all-ills, but it's still cute as fuck." Well, they weren't wrong.

The woman seated next to Poseidon let out an amused snort over her drink. It was Athena. Did he forget to mention her?

It's been a weird day.

Athena was drinking primly from, to his astonishment, a beer bottle. He ogled her for a moment, eyes glued to the drink clasped in her elegant fingers. It wasn't even a craft beer, he noted, more like piss water. Noticing his attentions, Athena paused from her disinterested sips, and turned to look at him for the first time since she arrived at the bar twenty minutes prior. Her grey eyes looked into his, piercing and sharp, nearly glowing in the dim lighting of the establishment. Deep plum-colored nails tapped against the bar's wrecked surface, mindful of the nicks and craters that had been carved into the golden wood. She looked... not curious, exactly, but something clearly caught her interest. Her face looked more open than he'd ever seen it, even during their short stint of a relationship.

"Is it true?" She asked it in a way that took him a few seconds to process, without her usual fanfare made up of careful diversions and sly words. Poseidon winced.

"Is it true you have a son?"

Poseidon considered his options carefully, imagining himself telling her off, imagining flipping her the bird. He could rant and rage, throw a tantrum. He could down his drink in one gulp, slap down a twenty, and bolt from the place and never look back. He could deny it and shrug, say "no, of course not", and leave it at that, ignore the responsibility an eight-year old boy placed on his shoulders. Poseidon could forget Percy Jackson ever existed. If only for a moment.

The bartender left the two of them, seemingly used to the heavy conversations that occurred around them. Just another part of the job, despite the heavy topic and the shock of the question being asked. Athena continued on, not waiting to see if he would answer.

"I have a daughter," she told him, and Poseidon blinked, nodded. He knew; he had never met her, though. "I only have part-time custody of her, and sometimes I think she just might despise me as much as she seems to imply she does." Her gaze seemed to soften then, if only a fraction, just the easing of the lines around her eyes and mouth. "I love Annabeth more than I can ever say. And I'm going to do my best to prove it to her."

Poseidon didn't know what to say.

"Don't waste your chance, you ass. You'll regret it." At that, she turned her head, and the conversation was over. He watched her throat bob as she took a long drag of beer; he shut his eyes in brief defeat.

"I think I might," he said, "I think I might have a son." He set a crumpled twenty on the bar and left.

* * *

Monsters of a Different Mold

* * *

Poseidon Olympia bumped into a child while walking to the bus stop, unwilling to chance his nice car or take the damnable metro. He caught the boy gently, surprise making his wrists weak, using the boy's shoulders to pull him back up before he fell and cracked his head on the concrete. The first thing he noticed was the scrawny stature, all sharp edges and angular points, the slight hollowness of the cheeks and the dark bruises under the eyes. The kid looked fragile, surreal. Even his hair seemed to be drained of life, and while not greasy, it held an unhealthy flatness.

The second thing he noticed were the green eyes framed in Sally Jackson's lashes. Un-fucking-believable, he thought.

"Oh," Poseidon said, and he should've stayed in that stupid bar and gotten smashed.

* * *

_This is the unedited version of this piece. I realize there are many mistakes within it, of course, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway. The edited and polished piece will be posted at a later date, probably around Wednesday or Thursday, and I'll write a quick author's note whenever it's up. I'll delete it a few days after. I hope you enjoy, and I'd like to give a thanks to my beta, who has been absolutely fantastic with everything! Thank you all for joining me on this ride so far. Can't wait for the ball to really start rolling. ~Loyalty_

_**8/8/16: Edited! -Loyalty**_


	9. Edited Ch 8 And Mini Sneak-Peak

Hey, the edited version of Chapter Eight is up! Sorry it took so long! Thanks again to my beta! I'll try and start working on Chapter Nine. The chapter title is _Arae_. Additionally, have a gander at the first sentence (hopefully):

_Percy took another slurp of his cherry coke, and Poseidon prayed this wasn't a kidnapping._

Well, there you go. I'll be taking this down in a few days. -Loyalty


End file.
